Vanity Fair
by Orilynn
Summary: "You can't say I've led an uneventful life, this is certain." "That is true, madam. And I must say I applaud you for enduring it all." The story of queen Sparrow's reign over her beloved Albion, and the struggles she endured. **Revised; plot holes fixed
1. Act I: A Hero Is Born

**Vanity Fair**

**Rating: **M (warning: eventual pedophilia and some slight sexual content)  
**Description: **Queen Sparrow's reign was not without battles. This is the story of her life from her rise to power until her untimely death, her ever-wavering love for her husband, Garth, and her many emotional struggles along the way.  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Fable apart from my copies of the first, second and third games, and my many Chicken Chasers, Sparrows, Princesses and Princes. Trust me, if I did, Garth, Reaver and Ben Finn would be romancible!

* * *

**Act I Part I  
A Hero Is Born**

* * *

A girl.

Sparrow had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. As she looked down at her daughter, she could feel nothing but love toward the little darling. She squirmed for a couple seconds, finally settling in her mother's arms, calmed by Sparrow's soothing stroking of her the soft, light caramel skin of her face. She couldn't help the tears that came now. She whispered a single thing, ever-so quietly, "Rose." Her name was given.

She suddenly felt the wave of exhaustion washing over her, after those many hours of labour. Her eyes fluttered, the weight lifted from her as someone took the baby from her arms, and Garth sat down next her on her bed. She remained, however, conscious, watching through half-closed eyes as her husband delicately held his daughter in his arms. He remained so calm, collected, as if he felt not even half of the emotion Sparrow did, but she knew better than to feel foolish about loving someone.

"Rose," he muttered plainly, no hint of emotion. Then a tear rolled down his cheek, something that surprised his wife immensely. His face remained unchanged, though when he spoke, his voice shook ever-so slightly. "Hello, I suppose... I'm your father."

Perhaps it was just sheer shock that she even existed that made Garth cry for the first time in Avo knows how long. Sparrow had been praying every night since they had been married for a child. Of course, he was a little older, and they had trouble conceiving. It nearly tore the poor woman apart, which made him feel guilty for being so selfish. He promised himself they day they made their escape from the spire together he wouldn't let himself feel anything more for the girl.

Of course, he always found himself drawn to her. Even in her spire guard uniform, there had been something appealing about her. It must have been the way she literally glowed. Her soft, pale skin had this certain way of catching in the light perfectly. With such a beautiful face – features so soft, eyes that sparkled in the light, hair that fell so perfectly around even a sweat-drenched face – she could have had her pick of the men.

She had picked him.

"Are you alright?" Sparrow asked softly, drawing him from his thought. She tilted her head to one side, confusion and worry mixing together and leaving her with a sort of childish innocence twinkling in her eyes. She struggled to sit up, but she managed to reach him, her lips brushing over his cheek gently, still fighting off sleep.

"Fine," he replied firmly, standing back up. He placed a snuggly wrapped Rose in her crib, lingering over her for a minute or two. He stared at her long and hard, still amazed at how easily and peacefully she slept. She was just so... wonderful. He leaned over and kissed the baby's forehead gently before heading back towards the bed.

With the doctor and a couple visiting friends finally having been cleared from the house, Sparrow finally gave into sleep. Garth watched her for a while, settling in a chair. He thought about his family. He thought about his daughter that could not yet open her eyes, and what she would see when she did. The world still had such great imperfections. It was no place for such a sweet little girl.

He made up his mind. He stood up and made for his study.

Having gathered what little belongings he needed, he headed back upstairs. After kissing Rose once more, he slowly approached the sleeping Sparrow. He knelt over her to brush the hair from her face. He kissed her newly exposed cheek. Sparrow was startled however.

Her eyes flickered open. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"Just to get some cheese. We're out."

She meant to protest, knowing deep down that no stall venders in their right mind would be selling their wares at this time of night, but she was simply to tired. He got up and slowly made his way downstairs.

Sparrow slept like no other night she could remember. Maybe it was because she had never felt so tired in her life, or because she had never felt so safe. Tucked away from the bustling world in their cute little farm in Brightwood that she had bought from her old friend, farmer Giles, not too far from Garth's Tower, she felt no worries. She loved it there, knowing the Tower was a short walk away, and would serve as a fantastic shelter in case of emergency, and few people with the courage to take her on in battle would stumble upon it. And of course, she always felt safe sleeping next to Garth.

"Garth." She sat up abruptly in bed, only just realizing his absence. How long had he been gone? It was midnight, and he hadn't returned. When had he left? She didn't even know. Of course she couldn't have bothered to check the time when he had left. The one time she forgot, it really mattered. Every time he left, she counted the minutes, until she knew he should have been back. He always showed just in time.

She couldn't help but feel worried. She was just about to hop out of bed and rush out to look for him when the realization brought on by the cry of baby Rose hit her like a rock full on in the temple. It was a sharp pain that quickly drew tears. Of course, it was the sudden migraine, not the metaphorical rock that left her in unbearable pain.

Rose had crying for a while, something Sparrow managed to gather from her level of distress. Her face was read like a tomato, her blanket tossed aside by her persistent fussing. Her abnormal strength gave her mother pride. The baby was sure to make a great hero, not that she would allow her daughter to pursue such a dangerous career...

The tiny baby cradled in her arms, Sparrow went back over to her own bed, ready for the great plight set before her. She first checked the cloth diaper to find the first task. She was sure a good meal would be next, the liberating of gasses... Yes, all tasks absolutely terrified her: especially the part about not being able to search for Garth.

Baby calmed and already half asleep, Sparrow scavenged the cupboards. She was starving, and thought she deserved a reward for taking care of herself and the newborn. She found it ridiculous Garth had left them alone, unfair, even. Unsafe? Probably. But she didn't care to think about him at the moment. No, her stomach ached to be filled, and her heart ached to bring him home.

"I will kill him next time I see him," she mumbled through the half a wheel of... cheese she had shoved into her mouth. She thought about what she held in her right hand once more. "Twice."

Having devoured every last bit of food in the house, Sparrow flopped down on the bed. She lay face down, breathing heavily into the thick, fur blankets, thinking about methods of torture to inflict upon her husband upon his return. Why he did this to her was as horribly unclear as a mud puddle. All she ever gave him was love. All she wanted back was for him to take the occasional precaution, maybe warn her if he planned to stay out extra late, or even the odd 'I love you' might be nice. But, no! Garth was that annoying lone wolf type through and through – strong and stoic; 24/7.

No matter how hard Sparrow tried, she could never melt him enough to reach that rich, gooey, chocolatey centre she once believed was there, and has never ceased to dampen her spirits. At first, having been without a lover for so long before they met, she thought it only natural he hardly even spoke to her half the time, rarely kissed back, and often refused to touch her the way she so desperately needed him to. But during the two years they spent apart after he had walked out telling her he simply did not love her, she was taught better by an old friend of hers.

Funny to think that even a cruel, egotistical megalomaniac like Reaver knows how loves should go. Not just the physical – to doubt his knowledge of that was simply pure idiocy – but he somehow managed to have a firm grasp on the emotional stuff. Maybe it was that girl he wrote about in his diary... Whatever the case, he knew his stuff, and Sparrow was eternally thankful for it, and it was after that she had confronted Garth, doing so believing she would earn his respect, and therefore his heart. It was after that he had softened up slightly.

Sparrow fell asleep without knowing it, on top of the covers and everything. The sight both amused Garth thoroughly, and brought a sudden pang of guilt – enough to surface a momentary smile, and bring a tear or two his eyes – when he arrived, just as the morning sun began to filter through the curtains. He fell on the bed beside his wife, taking care not to wake her as he removed the covers out from under her and threw them over her.

He pulled at the bandage wrapped around a great length of his left arm, wincing in pain. The knowledge it would heal abnormally fast comforted him enough to let it be, but the thought of the deep purple bruise than ran along his entire forearm lingered in his mind. He knew Sparrow would enquire about it when she woke, which made him slightly anxious for morning, but not so much so not to sleep.

He had already planned out what he would say: the usual lies and complete utter bullshit he continued to shove down her throat. The lies hurt him more than they hurt her, and they served a purpose. Garth knew his days were coming to an end way before hers, and he didn't think it would be fair to leave her unable to go on. He thought it was selfish to even encourage her love for him by playing along for this long, but he had managed to keep his emotional wall in tact all this time still.

The thought that perhaps never having claimed his heart fully would eternally torment Sparrow after his departure from this world, or even the thought her husband didn't care for her was slowly driving her mad had plagued his mind once or twice before, but he knew better. Sparrow was stronger than that...right? Physically strong indeed. Emotionally... Of course. She always seemed so strong, even after saving Albion and being left without a family she remained strong.

Then again, considering how much she loved her sister, and how much unconditional love her sister had shown her, perhaps... No, Garth had made up his mind.

He would shed no tears for her. No tears. None.

Sparrow's eyes met his. Surely it was a dream. Garth would never cry. Ever. And she refused to cry in front of him.

Garth kissed a tear from the young hero's cheek, brushing the hair from her face and pulling her closer. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, enjoying her scent, hiding his own tears in the thick brown waves. Sparrow in turn kissed every bit of him she could, taking advantage of his sudden change of heart. She knew moments like this were rare, and she wasn't about to waste being able to feel close to him. And when he finally untangled himself from her hair, he immediately claimed her lips for his own.

Sparrow pulled back, her feeling of betrayal slowly coming back to her. "Where the _hell_ have you been?" She paused between each word, finding it difficult to focus on her anger as Garth's hungry lips ravished her body.

He stopped and his eyes met hers again, enjoying having her simply melt into his arms. "I...got you something." He looked off. "It wasn't easy, and it took za lot of hard negotiation and _then_ some..."

Sparrow could see something strange in his eyes. Something she had never seen before within him, and she panicked for a moment until she realized – But, no... it couldn't be... pride? "What?"

"Albion."


	2. A Business Proposition

**Act I Part II**  
**A Most Interesting Plan**

* * *

Sparrow sat upon the glorious throne of Fairfax castle, looking around the throne room, admiring the art that adorned the walls, the colourful banners that hung from the ceiling and the statues that looked stood tall, gazing down at those who passed.. She was in preparation for the coronation, and she couldn't believe what was happening.

The people of Albion adored her – why, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was for her sacrifice, which wasn't so great – only her canine companion – or maybe it was from eliminating the evil lord who threatened the land. Again, this couldn't possibly make up for all her wrongs. She _had _beena criminal, after all. She wasn't proud of her history; it was long and unpleasant, leaving a revolting trail of carnage in its trail. It made her sick to think of what she had done, but she was different now.

At least, she thought she was...

There came a knock at the large wooden doors. Sparrow snapped to attention, and called for them to enter. She had been waiting all week, but she couldn't say she was looking forward to this particular meeting.

In came a man dressed in odd fashion, an outfit comprised of mostly a red fabric. His hair was freshly cut and he was looking simply radiant. Beside him stood a young boy of about eight, who wore a similar outfit that favoured purple rather than red, and in a much smaller size, and the man was taller than usual to begin with.

"My dear old friend! What a pleasure it is-"

"Save it, Reaver."

Sparrow shot him a look, her face cold as ice, causing him to back away suddenly. He looked to his younger companion, edging him forward with a tilt of the head, mouthing words the queen-to-be couldn't quite make out.

She looked at the boy, noticing he didn't look quite well. His face was drained of all colour apart from the deep purple bags around his eyes. She couldn't deny he reminded her of his father, which made her – admittedly – sick . An image of his pasty white face came to mind. The mere thought of him caused her lunch to rise in her throat.

Unable to take it anymore, she turned away, looking to the window. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from coming. "Why did you bring him here, Reaver?" she asked, he voice shaky. "I thought we were to talk of business, not disgusting bastard children of artificial, vile, meaningless life."

A sob escaped the boy's throat, his body shaking violently. He ran to Reaver and buried himself in the man's side.

"Now look what you've done! And you say his father is vile..." He smirked at her, seeing a spark of anger in her eyes. The smugness faded, becoming what Sparrow thought might possibly be genuine sorrow. He looked down at the boy, taking him into his arms, picking him up and holding him tightly in his arms. "Ssh, it's okay, my little darling."

"Nobody loves me," the boy sobbed.

"Now, I love you, my boy!"

Sparrow sighed, her lip twitching, her eyes threatening to betray her as she continued to fight back tears. She watched as the man she thought of as heartless comforting this boy, caressing his face, holding him tightly... She could never do that with the child of something so disgusting.

"Are we going to do this, or not?" Sparrow asked, growing tired of the display. She looked to Reaver, who put the distraught boy down, and ruffled his hair. He looked back to his business partner and smiled politely. "Good, now, follow me."

She led him to the study, which was now cleaned of Lucien's old research and crazy gadgets. She had set up a proper work area, where she had been taking care of everything of late; finance, catering and guests of honour for the coronation, requests from the citizens of Albion...

Sitting down in the chair behind her desk, she motioned for Reaver to have a seat in front of her. Having done so, he looked at the plans laid out before him. "What's this?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Reaver, you're a man of many talents, and many riches. What I'm suggesting is industrialization. It's all the rage down South, and I want a piece of that; something to bring to the table as the new queen. It'll be a right proper revolution – everything will be able to be done with machinery. The possibilities are quite nearly endless. While he get most of these simple things from overseas, we can produce it ourselves."

"What do you want of me?" he asked.

"I need someone to finance it, of course," Sparrow replied.

"And what do I get in return?"

"It'll set you up for life as far as money goes – once the cash starts rolling in. And I know you can't resist money... The kingdom will be... in your debt, you could say."

Reaver paused, looking over her for a second. "And... how do you plan on doing this, exactly?"

"Everything will belong to the royal family – we get a cut of everything. We own the land, we own the business."

"Ingenious, my friend... And you say you have the technology for the job? I know it's everywhere in some places... but you brought it here?" He smiled, looking back to the plans. "And what do you plan on making in these factories of yours?"

"Not mine, but the people's," she replied with a smile. "They can do whatever they very well please, as long as I get my money." She watched as his expression grew distant, his smile growing. She didn't like that. "Now, don't you get any ideas... I don't I like the idea of you in the manufacturing business."

"Really? I _do _have many talents..."

"Not in my lifetime will there be a day you open an Avo-knows-what factory."

Reaver pushed his chair back, that sly smile returning as he held out his hand. "Factory of my own or not, I'll help you." His smile grew as Sparrow took his hand and shook it, his mind running at no less than a million miles a second as it set to work on how he could use this arrangement to his advantage. Of course, he was raising a child at the moment he could easily use as a puppet; stick him on the throne when the queen dies, and he'd do whatever he pleased. But that'd be too easy.

Little did he know, the boy was growing a mind of his own – a noble one, despite his unfavourable background. But that's a story for another time.

As they once again reached the throne room, they found the boy running around, shouting orders to people who simply weren't there, judging criminals that existed in his mind alone, and listening to pleas of citizens that were nothing but silence. They stood and watched in awe as this child with unmentionable origins was playing as if he were simply a kid. Of course, this is what he was, despite their beliefs.

Sparrow smiled at the innocence on her son's face, forgetting the Commandant and those many years she spent under his command and even his person that lead to his birth. For the first time, she felt some affection for the boy. She felt tears in her eyes – of which nature, she couldn't decide. She walked over to him, knelt over, and wrapper her arms around him for the first time since his birth.

"Mother," he whispered, remaining stiff as a board. "What-"

She shushed him, her arms tightening around him. She buried her face in his black hair, letting the tears run freely now. The boy was crying too, finally able to hug his mother, to feel her warmth.

Reaver cleared his throat. He would never admit it – and thank Avo no one had seen – that he, too, had cried. He had long ago decided to leave those mushy feelings behind, but he like the boy a great deal. Cared for him, even. Loved him, perhaps. "Come now, Logan. We really must be getting back now."


	3. The Queen's Ascent

**Act I Part III**  
**The Queen's Ascent**

* * *

The sound of celebration was to be heard throughout all of Bowerstone to celebrate a new beginning, and a new age in Albion's history. The streets were crowded with happy citizens ready to for their new leader to ascend to the thrown, each and everyone of them excited, all for many for different reasons. There hadn't been a been a monarch to guide Albion for hundreds of years – Bowerstone hadn't even had a proper leader since lord Lucien disappeared.

One man in particular was extremely happy about the change in power, especially about what spoils awaited him. He licked his lips at the thought, taking another sip from his glass, looking to the boy beside him.

Logan was giving him those big puppy dog eyes, and he couldn't resist. Reaver handed him the glass with a warning, "Not too much, or you're mother _will _be able to tell. She doesn't like it when her guests show up intoxicated – I'll tell you that. She prefers to get them drunk herself!" The boy acknowledged this with a vigorous nod, bringing the glass he held tightly using both of his hands to his lips. Reaver laughed as the boy spit out the alcohol and began coughing violently, wiping his tongue with his pale hand.

"Disgusting," Logan said. "How could you feed me something so foul?" He spit on the floor, earning a frown from his guardian.

"It's an acquired taste," Reaver replied. "Much like children." He ruffled the boy's hair and pulled him onto his lap. The boy settled in, his tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of the man's suit.

Meanwhile, the queen-to-be was having a rather unpleasant time, rushing about, ordering people around, trying to make every little remaining detail perfect. Her husband watched the reflection of Sparrow in the mirror in amusement as she flopped down on the bed in exasperation.

He was dressed in regal attire – something that suited the older mage in a strange way – looking at himself one more time, he sighed and turned to her. "You think you're having troubles?" He gestured to the problematic buttons that had no holes.

"There's to be a change to the menu for the feast. The errand boys have been searching for what the chef needed to prepare the main dish, as it seemed to have magically disappeared this morning, but they haven't been able to find it anywhere!" Sparrow cried, rubbing her temples, paying no attention to Garth's attempts to humour her.

"It'll be fine," he replied with a sigh. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. Who cares what we eat?"

"Reaver most certainly cares, and I do not wish to have him making a scene! He helped pick out the menu, and I don't think he'll appreciate it if I lay his careful planning to waste."

Garth sat down next to her, moving the hair from her face and planting a kiss on her forehead, ignoring the eye roll. "That man's impossible. Remind me why you let him back in your life, again?"

She sat up, looking at him as though she couldn't believe he had just asked that question."When Logan was first born, he was there, and you most certainly were not."

"Well, you knew very I had no idea of his existence. You failed to mention that you were with child when we were together. And I don't think we were-"

"What about when we were completely bankrupt, with nothing to our name? Reaver paid for our entire wedding, no questions asked, no payment needed. And don't forget that when you left-"

"Alright, that's enough." His voice was firm and loud, making Sparrow jump. He turned away from her, feeling something snap inside of him. He didn't like it when she brought that up. He wasn't proud of leaving – it had been a time of great weakness. But she could never leave it be even when she knew how he felt about the subject. "I get that Reaver was there when I wasn't, and I'm sorry. Forget I even asked."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ticking of the clock, the both of them afraid to speak. Sparrow didn't like it when he was angry. It scared her, even. She knew that stress wasn't good for him, which made her guilty for bringing it upon him.

Sparrow reached out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shook it off and stood up, looking back at her. "Come, now. Your subjects await you."

* * *

The dinner guests took their seats around the large table, sitting with their own little group they were chatting with, the newly crowned queen at one end, her king at the other. On either side of the queen were Reaver and Hannah, while two politicians Garth didn't really know sat beside him. Beside Reaver was little Logan, who sat across from one of the high monks from the North Hannah had brought with her for the occasion.

As the appetizers were served, conversation went up, while the queen remained silent, occasionally up from her food to look at Garth, who never once looked up from his plate. He picked at his food, pushing it around his plate, never actually eating anything. Sparrow, too, did this; her stomach was too upset for her to eat.

Logan noticed this, and he sat watching his mother, feeling rather uncomfortable seeing the tension between her and Garth. When Reaver saw the boy hadn't touched his food, he urged the boy eat, but Logan, instead, tilted his head towards Sparrow. It took Reaver a while to clue in, but once he had, he felt something go off inside him. Before he knew, he grinning like an idiot. Hannah looked at him in disgust, only able to guess why he must be smiling.

"Sparrow..." Hannah touched the woman's hand gently. Sparrow met her gaze, and immediately saw the concern in her eyes. "Is there anything bothering you?" she asked in a whisper.

"I don't think I should say..."

"Secrets?" asked Reaver. "Do tell!"

Sparrow silenced him with an icy glare, daring him to say another word. "It's my own private business. This is between me and Garth..." She cursed at the slip, regretting it the moment she saw that evil, delighted little glint in Reaver's eyes.

"Problem with the hubby? _Scandalous_," he nearly squealed in delight.

Logan, who had been listening the whole time, looked up, eyes wide, at his mother. "Mum, if you're leaving Garth, you could always marry daddy," he said.

"You're father is dead, Logan," she said, her disgust rather apparent in her tone of voice. And then it hit Her, even before the boy clarified.

"I meant Reaver."

Sparrow eyed him carefully, surprised at this. "That would never work, as the two of us have an agreement. Reaver is like my..." She struggled to find the word she looking for.

"Girlfriend?" suggested the High Monk, catching the others off guard.

"Yes..." Sparrow began, but quickly corrected herself, "NO! I mean like... Yes, well..." She looked to Hannah, who shrugged, then to Reaver. He was watching her in amusement, his smile growing as she babbled on. "I'm not leaving him... I... You're like..." She let out a loud grunt of frustration, pushing her chair back and standing up suddenly. "I need to go the washroom," she announced.

"I'll come with you," offered Reaver, trying desperately not giggle like the school girl he so felt like.

She was at a loss for words, and instead starred him in disbelief. Tilting her head to one side, and asked rather loudly, "What in Avo's name are talking about?"

Reaver shrugged his shoulders, and plainly said, "Is that not what girlfriends do?"

His smugness was definitely starting to piss her off. Too tired to argue, too annoyed to handle his behaviour, she decided to take this opportunity to talk to him. In private. So, she had absolutely no idea how to respond, apart from, "...yes."

She – very reluctantly – took the arm he Reaver quickly offered her. And so, they went off, arm in arm, to the washroom, as everyone sat and watched, not sure what to think exactly.

Garth knew, however, that he was not at all pleased with his wife running off with such a vile, untrustworthy creature as Reaver. He felt the fork he held in his hand bending beneath his tight grip, and quickly set it down. The wheels of his mind were turning at and amazing speed as he tried to imagine what could possibly be going on, and he most certainly did not like what he came up with.

He couldn't deny he hated the ex-pirate with a passion that burned with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns, and that he wouldn't trust him to guard a goat – however random a thing one would need guarded – let alone raise a child. He didn't exactly feel too much affection for the boy, after what he had put Sparrow through, but he was only a child, and children needed proper upbringing. And he didn't exactly believe the boy was treated quite right, despite knowing how much Logan cared for his guardian.

He sat watching Logan for a moment, looking him over for signs of abuse, or something. All he could tell was that the boy had some wicked insomnia. If the boy had any bruises, cuts, or anything of the sort, they would be covered up by his clothes. He seemed to be steady, apart from looking as if he might collapse from exhaustion.

Reaver had the boy alone in that mansion of his, and who knew what he did there after nightfall. For all Garth knew, Logan could subject to physical abuse, or even worse. The thought of the boy being less than a virgin made him sick, and seemed unlikely as that was a whole new low for even Reaver, but he knew there was always a possibility.

Garth had spoken with Logan earlier, and he'd seemed polite enough, but he had noticed something. The boy's breath smelt of whisky, and he didn't much care for it. Alcohol was nothing meant for a growing boy, and he knew that. Why Reaver had given him alcohol, exactly, Garth didn't think he wanted to know.

Sure, Reaver was a fairly sketchy character, but he couldn't deny the boy was happy. At least, he seemed so. And having been raised by a man of wealth was much better than what he and Sparrow had had to offer before now. For the first few years of his life, they had little money, and had some trouble feeding themselves on occasion.

"Mr. King, sir, would you please pass the salt?"

Garth turned to the boy. He couldn't help but smile at how the boy had addressed him, and think that, perhaps, the boy _was _just a normal, pleasantly-treated virgin after all.

* * *

"What are you up to, Reaver?"

The question caught him off guard slightly, and he struggled to find an answer. He wasn't exactly up to anything in particular that had to do with her. At least, that he knew off... "Whatever do you mean?" he asked, admiring himself in the mirror above the sink.

Sparrow sighed and look at him. She didn't trust him. "You know exactly what I mean! You've got my eight year-old son playing wing man for you, and you didn't exactly seem sorry to hear about there being problems in my marriage."

"So... there are problems?" he asked, that smug smile returning.

The queen cried out in frustration, throwing her arms up in the air. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. Despite her brain screaming at her _not _to discuss her problems, she couldn't help it. "I mean, he likes to pretend I'm the only one of us with faults, while he's the one who abandoned me! He's nothing but a coward, unable to handle his emotions, always avoiding confrontation... yet he's not battle-shy! Avo's arse, Reaver; he hasn't touched me since we conceived Rose... that's eleven months, Reaver! Nearly and entire year!" She buried her face in her hands, now unable to stop the tears that came.

Reaver sat down next to the sobbing woman, putting his arm around her. He felt for her, as he, too, had hit his greatest dry spell since Avo knows when – though he would never admit it. He was spending too many quiet nights in with the boy, and no parties meant no eligible men and/or women. It was killing him, but his affection for the boy seemed to be greater than his sexual desires, which was a very new thing for him.

"There there," he said, his tone not too sincere. He didn't want to seem soft, now did he?

Sparrow looked to him with tear filled eyes, her apparent frustration showing in her face. She was angry at Garth for being such a coward, and she was angry for the years she had spent in the spire, and she was angry for the living reminder of her unfavourable sexual experiences there, and she was angry that Reaver always had to be so kind to her despite what she knew him to be. And she hated being able to see through that cold shell of his; to see that he really did care, sometimes – he was just as soft as she – because she wanted so badly not to love him the way she did.

"Tell me, my queen, is there anything I could possibly do to help?" Reaver asked.

She hesitated, for a second to think, not looking away for a second. Finally, she gave in. "Yes."

Reaver was surprised as the queen practically attacked him, their lips locking, her hands finding his hair. Her sudden forced knocked them down into the tub, Sparrow landing on top of him. He didn't exactly put up any resistance what-so-ever, but rather came back with more force than she.

He couldn't deny what he felt for her was something strange, ever-lasting, unwavering, like what he felt for Logan... but different, somehow. It was something he had been feeling for a long time – a very strong desire like none other he had ever felt, and he couldn't exactly say he enjoyed it.

The taste of her lips was intoxicating, and sweet like candy. Soft, perfect, they modelled to fit his as they pieced together the matching puzzle pieces. Soon, the rest of them fit together to, to create one image of sheer perfection like nothing either of them had ever felt before.

A hand tickled Sparrow's thigh as it did an elegant dance along her bare skin. Reaver pulled the dress up further and further, revealing the milky skin that called to him so sweetly.

Sparrow felt something growing in her stomach. It was twisting around in guilt, rendering anything she had been feeling before moot. Her thoughts turned to Garth, that damn conscience of her wishing to ruin everything that made her happy. She cursed it, unable to take it anymore.

She sat up suddenly, pulling away from the undeniable perfection. Reaver looked up at her, confusion showing in his face. His hands rested on her upper thighs, holding her down to his body, where her legs had found their way around his waist. "What's wrong, my queen?" he asked.

"I can't... I shouldn't..." She looked at him, tears forming in her eyes once more. Suddenly, something inside her urged to take back what she had said. She cursed his magical fingers. "...not in my husband's house."

Reaver smirked. "Once the old man goes to sleep, you come to see me immediately, okay?"

The queen nodded, hating herself for doing so, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Reaver sat up, noticing this. He felt something paining him from within his stomach as he watched her cry. It was what he had felt the other day when she'd made Logan cry.

He wiped the tears from her face, and brought her in close to him, driven by a strange instinct. He stood up, holding her in his arms, standing her up in front of the sink. "Fix yourself up," he said. "Don't want anyone getting suspicious, now do we?"


	4. As Quickly As It Began

**Act I Part IV  
****As Quickly As It Began**

* * *

Sparrow crept slowly through the door, trying desperately not to open it any further - for she knew that if she did the rusty hinges would creak horribly. She looked over at the bed and saw Garth sleeping peacefully. He snored lightly, but remained still beneath the ornate covers of the royal bed. She could hear Rose coughing in the attached nursery, which startled her.

The infant had woken herself up with her coughing, and went silent for a bit. Then, as Sparrow knew she would, she started wailing at the top of her lungs. Sparrow winced, muttering an almost silent, "Shit," under her breath. She used this as chance to enter the room, and walked over the bed, she slowly slipped beneath the covers just as Garth began to stir.

"The baby's up," he mumbled.

Sparrow smiled to herself, pleased that he had not found her out. She climbed out of bed with faked difficulty and replied, "I'll go check on her."

"Wait." Garth sat up and pulled her back down onto the bed. He buried his face in the soft fabric that covered her back and sighed. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said softly.

Sparrow felt tears well in her eyes at his words. She didn't want him to feel bad about such a stupid, pointless argument while what she had done was much worse. She should be the one apologizing after what she had done. She despised herself.

"I'm the guilty one," he said softly. "I should stop blaming you for everything, especially since _I'm _the one who left. I shouldn't try to make you feel bad about something _I _did to _you_. You know it's one of the things I regret most."

Sparrow stifled a sob. She held onto Garth's hands and leaned back into his embrace. She loved him more than anything. She should never have done something so stupid... so selfish... She searched for the words to say. "I forgive you," she said. "I love you."

_I'm a stupid, selfish whore._

Garth sighed once more, taking a deep breath. He stiffened. "You smell different," he said quietly. "Like smoke, and whiskey, and..." He stopped there, for he didn't believe it. Perhaps his mind was just playing tricks on him.

"Sorry," she said, trying to buy herself further time to think. "I... went downstairs for a drink. The cook was smoking again."

_Stupid... selfish... He knows._

"Oh." He let her go and fell backwards again into bed and pulled the covers over him once more. "Go check on her. She'll cry herself horse," he said, his voice hard. He used the voice that scared Sparrow more than anything, and whether he knew what she'd done or not, she felt as though she'd just been told he did, and the hurt she could see in his eyes was enough to make her hate herself even more.

* * *

Logan wandered into Reaver's private bedroom timidly, looking around. It hadn't changed much since he had last visited. He wasn't usually allowed in the there, although Reaver had once locked him in the cage that hung from the ceiling after he had spilled red wine on the white carpet. But, since Reaver had called him in, he supposed he wouldn't mind.

Reaver laid in bed, barely covered by the scattered sheets. His chest gleamed with sweat in the flickering torch light. He looked intimidating there, watching him with a crooked smile. He gestured for the boy to join him, and Logan walked to the side of the large bed, climbed up into it, and settled in next to his guardian.

Logan didn't much care for the private bedroom... It was grossly warm, as there were no lights used to light it, but, rather, torches. It was poorly lit, and very humid. The heat made him breathe heavier, and he didn't much care for the taste that hung in the thick air he was breathing.

"Hello, my boy," he said warmly. He quickly scanned the boy with his cold, green eyes, smiling oddly.

"I saw mother running down the hallway a while ago," Logan said, his voice hard and emotionless. "Did you have sex with her?"

Reaver chuckled at this, bringing a glass of scotch up to his lips. "Why, my dearest child? Does it bother you? Do you think it immoral and horrid to sleep with a married woman?" He said all this with a smile, half laughing the whole time. He took a sip of his drink and sat back in bed. He laughed even harder as Logan nodded.

"Oh, you poor, innocent, thing... You know," there was a sudden shift in his voice, "being the child of that... thing, I would think you're moral compass would at least point a little east. You know what that man did for a living? He broke people, that's what. And you know, you mother was one of those people. Know how? He violated her, everyday, for ten years. It's left that woman so loose it's almost strange that silly old woman didn't cave sooner!" Reaver laughed now, though nothing was all that funny.

"My mother is _not _a whore," Logan said quietly.

"Keep telling yourself that, my dear boy." He gave him a wink and a smile. "Now, come, cuddle up to uncle Reaver. I'm so lonely," he said with fake hurt, throwing himself back, hand over his forehead.

"Should I be naked like last time?" Logan asked innocently.

"You don't have to be..." Reaver couldn't help but smile. The boy had learned well.

Logan looked up at him through wide eyes, then down to his pajamas. He pulled his shirt up over his head, and leaned back so he could take off his pants. Then, he wriggled in under the sheets and up close to his guardian, closing his eyes tightly. Reaver chuckled and pulled the boy in close.


	5. It's Not Over 'Till --

**Act I Part V  
It's Not Over 'Till The Little Girl Screams**

* * *

It had been enough of a task to convince Garth to allow the party. He had wanted nothing more than a simple gathering of close friends; Reaver not included, of course. Sparrow had begged and pleaded until he finally caved, though he made her promise she wouldn't go overboard. She didn't, of course. But Reaver did.

The twilight veil had fallen; dinner would soon begin, but the princess was nowhere to be found, and the queen was beginning to worry. She spotted Reaver talking to the lord Fenrich of Oakfield's mistress, and quickly interrupted, "Excuse me," she said, "but Reaver, have you seen Rose?"

"Playing with Logan in the gardens, I believe," he replied, never taking his eyes off the mistress before him, which annoyed Sparrow a great deal.

She turned the other woman. "Say, miss, how many of the lord's children are yours, anyway? I've heard her ladyship is unable to bare children, being good friends with her, of course. How convenient she doesn't mind sharing her husband." Leaving the flustered woman behind, Sparrow grabbed Reaver's wrist and dragged him outside, ignoring his protests. "How in the world did you manage to invite all of the lords' mistresses individually, anyway?" Sparrow asked in a huff.

"I have my sources," Reaver replied coolly, now walking along beside her of his own free-will. He somehow managed to pull his hand up into the queen's grasp and held her hand, instead; tightly.

"What are you doing?" she asked, irritated, flashing him a poisonous look.

"Oh, come on," he purred, his arm snaking around her waist, "just for old times' sake?"

Sparrow sighed, pulling away, and marched on, leaving the marksman to pout to himself. "That was years ago, Reaver. Now, you go right, I'll go left." With that, she disappeared, calling out the childrens' names.

Reaver wandered through the hedge maze, trying to focus on the task ahead, but his vision swam before him for some reason. Perhaps he had already had too much to drink. And he did remember having had quite a bit already. But when he called Logan's name, his voice was quiet and broken. "What is this witchcraft?" he mumbled.

It had been years since his short-lived affair with his best and only friend, the queen, and he didn't really think about it much. For some reason, when he started to, he got a strange feeling that he didn't really like, and, so, he thought of something else. They had never talked about it, and it had never come up until seconds ago. It's not as though it had been all that great. Or had it? When he tried to remember, he got that sickly feeling and gave up. He didn't even remember why it had ended. The first night had been the last; she had never even said why. Or had she?

He wracked his brain, and when the feeling came, he ignored it with great difficulty.

_"Back for more, my little minx?" Reaver said. He was sitting in a large chair in his private library when one of his servants ushered a hooded Sparrow into the room. "I did have such a lovely time on our last little trip to-"_

_"I want out," she said quickly. "It never should have happened, Reaver. I love Garth, and he loves me and me alone. We have a new baby girl; a beautiful baby girl. We're a family, something you'd never be willing to be, and that's what I want. I don't want to ruin what I have just for you."_

_Reaver was silent for a second, and he set down his book, and took a swig of brandy. He thought for a second. "Just for me? Am I not a perfect masterpiece worth the world?" he asked jokingly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm almost certain my love is just as good as any, if not better."_

_"Your love isn't worth what a pig could spit, Reaver. It's so overused and overpriced. You're nothing more than a common manwhore." The marksman laughed nervously, feeling some strange pain in his chest. "You're cruel, and horrid, and you don't care about other people. Not even all of the love in the world could change that."_

_"Do I not care for your bastard son out of nothing but the kindness of my heart, simply because you asked me to? Did I not take care of you when that 'lovely' husband of yours left you?" His voice grew louder and louder as he fought himself so as not to lose his temper. "There has never been anything in it for me, but I still do it all the same. I do it for you." Sparrow just shook her head and turned to leave. "Maybe your love for me can't change me, but my love for you can."_

_Sparrow look at him, tears filled her eyes. She approached him slowly, not saying a word, then leaned down toward the sitting man, and gently kissed his lips. Reaver held the woman's face in his hand, trying desperately to keep her there, but she pulled back and whispered softly, "Reaver, you don't love." And with that, she rose, and left._

The feeling was at its strongest now, and Reaver clutched his chest as he continued down the garden path, his vision blurred. When he reached up to rub his eyes, he was met by the most peculiar thing. "Am I… leaking?" he asked is bewilderment. "I am not weak. I do not cry. I am Reaver," he assured himself. "Now, where are those blasted children?"

* * *

"Logan, be careful!" the five-year old princess cried. "You almost hit me!"

"Oh, calm down, it's only a dull sword," the thirteen year-old replied casually, "It won't do much damage."

Sparrow had recently taken it upon herself to teach the young girl some swordplay, and, of course, Logan was fluent in the graceful dance from his instruction from his guardian. So, the two decided it a good idea to venture out and spar a little in the moonlight. The boy had a great advantage in both age and size, and he had no intention of taking it easy on the apple of his mother's eye.

His sword slashed through the cold night air, and the young princess could barely block it let alone launch a counter attack. She was strong for a five year-old, since the hero's blood was strong in her blood, but she was still much weaker than the boy while only carrying half of the powerful blood in his own body. He had been training hard to please Reaver and had been growing quickly, which Reaver also seemed to enjoy very much. He still greatly resembled his mother – more so than the princess.

They could hear the call of the queen from the other side of the garden, but they gave her no mind. Logan needed to finish this. He needed to win it.

His snow-white skin glistened in the moonlight as he continued his non-stop attack, his black hair dancing in the wind. The young Rose struggled to fight back desperately, and was forced back with every blow. Logan paused for a single second, giving her the opportunity she needed to strike, and with one quick, graceful movement, her strike broke through his attempted block, and the boy cried out. Logan didn't pause to try to stop the terrible pain in his lip, and pushed the celebrating princess back roughly.

"Logan, I'm sorry!" He did it again. "What are you-" And again. "Logan!"

The princess tumbled backward, reaching out for anything at all, as she began to fall in the gaping hole that was the future site of a well under construction. She managed to grab hold of the ledge, though her small, weak fingers were slipping quickly. "Logan, help me," she pleaded. "Brother, please…"

"Logan!" a broken voice called, and Logan spun around to see Reaver rushing toward him. "What are you doing, boy?" When the man saw the mess the boy's face was in, he grew angry. With a roar, he slapped the boy hard across the face.

Logan stood, head turned to the side he had been forced to, spit a mouthful of blood out on to the ground, and silently raised a hand to his face. He gingerly felt where he had been had hit, and then where his lip had been cut, now crying silently.

"There'll be a scar there, you stupid boy! What were you thinking, going out to play after dark? Or were you thinking at all?"

"She cut me, Reaver," Logan said, pointing toward the slipping princess. "Please forgive me, sir."

Reaver left the boy and walked over to the princess, a crooked smile spreading over his lips. "Why, princess, your mother is worried sick. She's out looking for you; can't you hear her?" He knelt down, enjoying the agony on the child's face as she fought desperately to keep hold on the stone ledge as it cut her delicate, tiny hands. "And know you've hurt my boy, and his beautiful face will never be the same. We can't have that, can we?"

"Uncle Reaver – _sir,_ please," the girl gasped, "help me up."

"I wonder how many of your little bones would shatter were to fall the five stories beneath you…" Reaver mused, his eyes glazing over. "I wonder how painful it would be. I wonder if I could hear you screams all the way down.. I wonder if I would hear the crunch. I wonder… would it hurt your mother enough to break the cold rock that is her heart?"

"Please, it's not funny," the princess begged. "I'm begging you… Godfather, please..!"

Reaver watched, bemused. "Ah yes, we've had enough of the suffering, haven't we?" he said, standing up, his smile true, eyes kind. "Poor, sweet, Rose." His expression turned to sheer malice, _hatred_, as brought a leg up and brought his foot down hard on one of her small hands.

The girl sobbed, and cried desperately as the other hand slowly slipped from the ledge and she fell back into the blackness of the hole, while Reaver stood over and watched, listening to her ear-piercing scream.

When the scream stopped, he turned to the boy, who had fallen to his knees, trembling, the crimson seeping through his pale, quivering hand and dripping all over his party clothes. Reaver knelt down next to him, and tilted his head upward to get a good look at the damage the princess had done to his boy. "Poor thing," he whispered, "Such a lovely face… Let uncle Reaver kiss it better."

The boy sat silently, looking up at his guardian and he leaned in and connected their lips gently, holding the shaking boy close to him. He knew better than to fight the man when he did this, though he knew it was wrong. Something inside of him told him to hate it, but another part told him to ignore that and kiss back, which he did. This brought Reaver to suck hard on the boy's lower lip, licking up the blood and drawing more, which made the boy wince, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. Reaver only pulled the boy closer, but pulled out of the kiss.

"Promise me you won't do such a foolish thing again," he demanded.

"I promise," Logan whispered his voice hoarse.

"Reaver! Logan!" Sparrow called, running toward then. "Where is Rose? Have you seen her?"

Logan, who was already in tears, began sobbing harder, while Reaver, the actor he was, brought some tears to his own eyes in a flash. "Sparrow," he whispered, rising to his feet.. "There's been a terrible accident..."


	6. In Dishonourable Ways

**Act I Part VI**  
**In Dishonourable Ways**

* * *

Thousands had flocked to the castle in mourning, to lay the young princess to rest. All sorts of people – rich, poor, beautiful, less than, short, tall, fat and thin – stood in the crowded castle gardens as a large structure of sorts covered by a tarp was erected before them. It was a monument to their princess's short life. She was a good, kind girl, and the kingdom was going to miss her terribly.

Not only would she have made a wonderful, benevolent queen and thought that if anyone had to replace Sparrow, it should have been her. She was, after all, considered to be the only _true _heir to the throne, should her mother pass; Logan was an illegitimate child, son of an evil, oppressive homunculus who'd broken if not killed some of the kingdom's own. But, now, should the king and queen die, he was the only heir left – be he true or not. And yet, he could find no comfort in that, knowing how he had come about that position, and Reaver could tell.

Logan scanned the crowd. He was looking all over - whatever he could do so as not to have to watch the funeral itself. There was a sickening feeling in his stomach. He was worried – had he murdered her? He knew he hadn't meant to push her into the well. He had thought of killing her many times, but he would never actually do it. It was nothing more than a fantasy – a way of blowing off some steam. And sure, he hadn't actually sent her tumbling into the darkness; Reaver had. But, was he not guilty by association?

When he was younger, and Reaver had killed a male prostitute in Knothole Glade by accident, the authorities had come after them as soon as Ladybug Smiles, who managed the prostitutes in town had told the guards that Dick Senourmous didn't come home that night. The two went on the run for weeks, and hid in Reaver's mansion in Bloodstone, his goons guarding every entrance. The guards said they wanted Logan, too, because he had been there, forced to watch the two men, and saw it happen, and didn't tell. If anyone found out Reaver had killed Rose, would they come after Logan too?

He had never killed anyone, nor did he think he would ever have to. Did this count? Is that why he felt sick? Was this how it felt to kill? Or was he just worried about being caught, and being taken from Reaver..?

The boy thought that, should he ever have to kill another person, it would be in an honourable way. In combat, in a war. That he would have to fend off death, too, and he would not be fighting a five year old girl... one eight years his junior.

Rose's disfigured body had been retrieved from the well earlier that week and the queen would be travelling up North after the ceremony to see it buried near the old homestead where she had been born, among two other graves familiar to Sparrow's past. When Reaver had told Logan this, and the boy asked him why and what he meant, Reaver had sat him down and told him the story of his half-sisters.

When Sparrow had first gone to the small farming town to see the Abbot, she had met a handsome young farm hand. _"'Dark skin and bright eyes' she said," _Reaver had told him._"The kind of eyes that 'lifted your spirits' and a 'contagious' smile..." _He had looked sad, as Logan recalled, which made him sad as well. _"And they spent time together whenever she came to town until one day, she didn't come back. For almost an entire year. She had been wounded, badly, and, though she didn't know it, her farm hand was waiting for her return. When she did return, though, they went at it like rabbits," Reaver nearly laughed, "and I don't dare give you the details she gave me. It was enough for her to remember to this day - years after._

"_The two had been poor at the time, and soon Sparrow was pregnant, and the two were overjoyed, though perhaps a little nervous about having an extra mouth to feed. Nine months later, she gave birth, only they did not receive the son they had hoped for, but rather two baby girls. One, Scarlet, took after her mother - skin like the moon with fair hair - while the other took after her father - dark skin and brilliant eyes. They named the second one after her father's late mother; Page._

"_A couple months after, Sparrow left for the arena and was invited to join lord Lucien's guard. She soon travelled to the Spire, where she spent ten long years being broken by that bastard; the Commandant. Though, I can't say I'm not the slightest bit pleased. That's how I have you here, with me, now. But, while she was gone, her lover died of disease, and it wasn't until someone complained about the smell that someone discovered the infants, though one was long gone."_

Logan looked to his mother, who cried quietly beside her stone-face husband, and he felt no guilt, while the pain in his chest was suddenly gone and in its place was a new, warm feeling. He didn't like this new feeling.

* * *

Sparrow looked nervously at her bowl of soup, gently lifting her spoon to her lips. She sipped silently, the set the utensil back on the edge of bowl before pushing back her chair. Garth sighed as she stood up and left. That was all she had eaten, and he knew that it be all she would eat.

The queen had grown thin and pale; her cheeks hollow and her face gaunt as ever. One could now truly say Logan was the spitting image of the woman. She refused to eat anything at all most days, and hardly slept a wink. But, this was a normal mourning period for her. Sparrow had gone through the same thing before – with Rose, her old family and when Lord Lucien had murdered her faithful companion in cold blood. And when she had broken it off with Reaver.

Garth waited a moment before going after her. He rushed down the hall and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around so that she could the tears in his eyes, and he could see her own. She was crying softly. "We'll never be able to have another child, will we?" She looked at him with big eyes, and he felt a lump grow in is his throat.

"Not if we don't try," he said, trying to be hopeful, though he knew chances would remain slim. They had, afterall, been trying all the years after they'd had Rose, too. It wasn't just now. And that truly worried him.

Anger grew in her eyes, but her rage was overcome by the grief that washed over her in sobs. "I'm tired of trying," she hollered. "We tried. We very nearly succeeded. But we will never have a son, Garth. Nothing will change the fact that we're both growing older. Things will only ever get harder!"

The mage pulled her into his arms to attempt to calm her. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and whispered softly, "That's why we have to try hard, and why we have to love each other more than ever. I will never give up on you."


	7. Call & Answer

**Act I Part VII**  
**Call & Answer**

* * *

It had been months since the princess' passing, and the grief had been taking its toll on the poor queen quite wildly. Her face had grown dark and her cheeks hallow; she lacked in sleep and weight and strength. There was not a soul who wasn't worried for her poor health. Whenever her body shook or she fell – which happened far too often – she simply waved it off and said she was fine.

She was not fine.

Garth was ill with worry. He spent his time trying to get her to eat something – anything! He kept her in bed, held her and soothed her, trying to help her sleep. His efforts were futile, and the queen's condition did nothing but worsen. Sparrow could help but think it might be easier if she were with Reaver, and not Garth. That realization only made her feel sicker.

By the five month mark, she could not leave her bed, for she was too weak. It was around that time she had two visitors who she had not had before, who she would have expected to see sooner.

Reaver decided to keep his distance at first news of her sickness; he felt a gut-wrenching guilt that brought tears to his eyes at the thought. Logan was distraught. It was not until Logan found Reaver in a mess of tears that he begged him to go see her, and Reaver could not deny this request. He, too, wished more than anything to see her, though he would never admit to such a thing.

They never really talked about how they were feeling. Not about what they did to Rose, no; they felt nothing about that, though Logan felt anxious to be found out. They never mentioned Sparrow's sickness, though they both wondered if it was them who had brought this upon her – the woman they wanted to feel love from, more than anything else in the world.

When they first arrived, they said nothing to her, and she said nothing to them. She just watched them from her limp position on the bed. Some help had aided them in hauling a piano into her room so that they may play for her, and they did. It was something Reaver had learned throughout his many days, and taught the boy.

The music they made together was beautiful, Sparrow thought. It made her smile when they played a beautiful duet and Reaver sang a couple words. Though he couldn't exactly sing, it seemed to fit. She asked them to help her sit up so that she may watch them.

So they did.

What she could see was almost strange – as though she watched another life from a distance. It was like she didn't exist to them when they played. It was them and the piano, and they seemed to fit so strangely, like a perfect puzzle. The way they were so perfectly synchronized – how they moved together and never missed a beat – and how they smiled and laughed as though the world was a perfect bubble that held only Logan, Reaver and the piano.

Sparrow cried.

Logan stopped playing in the middle of a call and answer, and left his guardian to sound rather silly playing by himself. He walked over to his mother's bed and saw she could not wipe away the tears herself. So he helped her, and she smiled. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I love you, mother," he whispered, and he returned to the piano.

They played until she fell asleep.

* * *

"You need to eat," Garth insisted. When he insisted something, he used a deep, chest voice that made Sparrow shiver and feel a little afraid. She wished she could. "If you don't get better..." He closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to think about that if. "How do you ever expect to conceive a heir in your current state? Imagine what would happen if we left Albion without one; the bastard would be running things!"

Sparrow turned over in bed and nearly growled at him. "Don't call him that," she hissed. Her eyes tightened at the pain of moving, and thought of Logan and how sweetly his hair smelled and how kindly he smiled, despite everything.

"Why not, if that's what he is?"

"He's a good boy," she said rather quietly yet firmly, not looking at him.

Garth laughed. "Of course, because Reaver could only raise the best of children, right?"

"Reaver is a good man."

He did not reply. Instead, he walked around the bed and held out a spoon of mildly warm broth. "If you will not eat for me, eat for him."

Sparrow thought for a second about her son. She had never done much for him – if anything at all. She had kept him, she supposed, though that was just about it. Now, he belonged to Reaver, she could see. It was funny; she had never thought she would regret giving him up the way she did, of all things. Yet, after seeing him with Reaver, she felt as though she had missed out on something great. Something she could not get back. She wanted to do something for Logan, for once.

Very hesitantly, she opened her mouth. Garth sighed with relief and smiled so wide Sparrow thought his mouth might knock his ears off the side of his head. He looked as though he may cry as she accepted the spoon in her mouth and swallowed slowly. And as she did this several more times.

It was a strange feeling Garth felt. His wife would not eat for him, but she would eat for her bastard child conceived out of rape. He wasn't sure whether he should simply be happy she was eating again, or whether he should feel insulted by such a gesture. Women were strange creatures; especially when it came to their children.

* * *

When Sparrow had regained her strength enough to leave her bed, she thought she might hire some personal help to care for her so that Garth may return to his duties while she recovered her state of mind. It was a strange request; the castle had not had a butler since their last one quit when they first acquired the place.

They sent out word, and, soon, she was conducting interviews.

Many had come - few seemed qualified. She was looking for someone... special, you could say. Someone who stood out. Someone who could be an agreeable companion. And after many candidates, she thought she found him.

He was beautiful to behold, she thought, in a strange way. With a comforting voice of silk, and fine brown hair and wise eyes. It was funny how he only smiled when she smiled, almost as though he were asking for her permission first. She liked that.

What was truly funny was that he could not help but smile when she smiled. He was not one to smile, but, for some reason, she made him smile. She was beautiful sculpture; a goddess to be worshipped, in his eyes. She made him feel strange. He did not like that.

"Name?" Sparrow asked. She started it like any other.

"Jasper Cuthbert," he said.

"Do you have much experience being a butler, Mr. Cuthbert?"

"Yes, actually. And of a rather horrible sort, I might add," he said, shuddering. "I've spent the last ten years working for lord Allaby. Until his mind went, too. He became confused with time. Thought me a 'pretty lady'. Couldn't keep his bloody hands to himself, crazy bastard... Pardon my language."

She smiled. He smiled.

The rest of the interview consisted of Jasper's anecdotes, which Sparrow could not get enough of. She thought it particularly amusing that, should she ask lord Allaby for a reference, she should refer to Jasper as 'Susan', or the poor old man would have no idea who she spoke of.

He continued to make her smile, which continued to make him do the same in turn.

That day she hired him. And that night, she went to bed and laid with her husband for the first time in three months.

* * *

Jasper pulled the blankets off the sleeping queen in a sweeping motion. "Rise and shine. Up-and-at-em'!" He strode over to the window and yanked open the curtains, blinding Sparrow with the afternoon sun. "Wakey-wakey!"

Sparrow groaned. "Ugh, Jasper..." She rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head, shivering from the cold of the air now embracing her.

"I trust her majesty had a good night," he said merrily, ignoring her whining. "A loud one, at least."

"Twas a miracle, Jasper; three times!" she nearly sang out, sitting up and hugging the pillow. She fell back, exhausted, and laughed.

Jasper paused. "That's... not exactly what I meant, but that _is _nice - considering your state before my arrival. But, no, that's not what I meant," he said, smiling to himself as he turned to the table where he had placed the tray containing the queen's breakfast.

Sparrow, too, smiled, and turned over. She climbed out of bed and grabbed her blankets and dragged them back with her. "Then what did you mean?"

He wondered whether he should ask. He was not sure how appropriate it was to do so. "You sounded... troubled. In your sleep. Bad dream?"

She frowned and sunk back into bed as he carried over her meal. He looked down at her and she nodded. Jasper half-smiled as a comfort and set the tray in her lap. His eyes made her sad, and vice versa.

The queen took to nibbling at her toast while the butler stood over her, watching intently. His eyes searched her for some sign she was okay. "Does her majesty wish to talk about it, perhaps?" he asked. She nodded.

"I dreamed I was alone," she said. "I was in pain. I was sinking into the ground, and I couldn't escape. When I cried for help, nothing came out. My screams were silent and yet, Logan came running to me. He tried to help me up, but I kept sinking, and so did he. And as he was neck-deep, Reaver appeared, and pulled him out. But he didn't help me... He let me sink... And I suffocated.

"Truly horrifying," Jasper said. "Might I suggest it means something?"

"Shoot," Sparrow said, sipping her juice.

"I'm certainly no expert, but, maybe it's that you feel as though you are suffocating - figuratively, of course. Maybe your subconscious is screaming for help because it feels caged and stuck somewhere it doesn't want to be. As for master Logan and Reaver, I'm not sure. Maybe you know your son loves you, and you regret how he's spent his life, and you feel as thought you're him dragging down when you know he's best left to Reaver?"

Sparrow starred at him for a moment, sucking her bottom lip, brow furrowed. She thought about this for a moment and waved it aside. "Jasper, how you amuse me."

She smiled. He smiled.


	8. Swiftly, If You Will

**Act I Part VIII**  
**Swiftly, If You Will**

* * *

Since Sparrow's ascent to the throne, it seemed the armies were rendered moot. They rarely dealt with real conflict on a regular basis; crime rates were down, bandit raids and terrorism were unheard of. Most of the soldiers were stationed around towns and along roads. They dealt with minor crimes and the occasional country murder or disappearance and the wild animals that harassed travelling traders.

Some called it a beautiful thing. The soldiers themselves called it just plain embarrassing. An example of such a soldier would be a young lad who bore the title of Officer.

Swift was his name. Jack Connolly Swift, a young lad and 2nd lieutenant in his Majesty's army. He had just been promoted, and wasn't accustomed to dealing with other people's problems. When others reported back to him, he wasn't sure if maybe he should just file the paperwork and have it never seen again, or talk to a superior about it. If he was ever faced with this problem, he would ask his good friend of the same rank, a few years his senior and more accustomed to the system.

2nd Lieutenant Walter Beck was an ambitious fellow, known for his fine swordsmanship. "He's going places," his superiors would say. Everyone knew it. He was loud, but very courageous and not afraid of a little scrap here and there. He could handle it.

Earlier that week, Swift had received some strange news of sightings of bandits along the coast. No large groups were spotted, but there were said to be a few small packs. As the week went on, sightings grew, no matter how many they cut down. That morning, Swift had orders to have some men investigate.

Walter had been waiting to hear back from his friend for a while, now. He had grown restless and jumpy; there was an eerie feeling in the air. Everyone knew something was up, and Walter felt it more than anyone. He felt it in his bones. This is why he nearly jumped out of his seat when Swift knocked on his office door late that afternoon.

"Jack, my good man! Come in, come in!" Walter said anxiously, ushering him in. He got up to close the door and pulled up a chair for him. He sat back down and watched him carefully. There was a moment of silence before he simply couldn't bare it any longer. "What's the news?"

Swift looked down and fiddled with his black gloves for a second. "Alarming, I'm afraid," he said finally, furrowing his brow. "My men and I discovered where the bandits have been coming from."

"And?"

"Well, the groups we've been cutting down were the outer patrols," he said. He made a strange face as he explained this; he looked altogether horrified, though the corner of his mouth were turned up in an empty smirk, as though he were mad. "If you walk North-West, they come in much larger groups. The innermost circle we came across consisted of nearly forty men. We were barely able to escape them..."

Walter fell backwards into his seat in shock. "Avo's arse, man! That must mean-"

"I climbed an old watch tower nearby, and I saw it; hundreds – thousands – of them! The largest clan I've ever seen! They've all been gathering slowly, building numbers, collecting scraps of old camps. Walter; it's going to get a hell of a lot more bloody before they're gone."

It was Swift's face that worried him most of all.

* * *

"Who says I've got to get dressed?"

"Well, you're wanted in Dreadmor Fort this afternoon to speak with General Mourningwood, your majesty. I think it'd be in your best interest to attend while fully _clothed_."

"Why? I can surely do a better job getting what is needed in my underclothes."

"Yes, I'm sure that is true. But you at least have to get out of bed_._"

Sparrow peaked out from under her sheets, revealing nothing more than an eye. Jasper was standing over her, watching her, a bemused smirk pulling at his lips. "But I'm _tired_," she groaned, though this only made his smirk seem more smug.

"You can sleep on the journey, surely," he said. "We'll pack your favourite pillows... and a nice blanket. You can wear your comfy dress..."

The queen flopped backwards and wriggled around. "But we won't get back until late... I'll fall asleep, then you'll wake me up and I won't get back to sleep for the night," she whined.

Jasper sighed. "Oh, for Avo's sake, I'll carry you inside when we get back to castle if I have to! Don't be such a –" Sparrow through back her blankets and starred at him with big eyes, head cocked to one side. "– drama queen."

She smiled. He smiled.

"Will you tell me some more of your stories on the ride back? I do like your stories," she said. "They're so uneventful and dull, they always put me right to sleep!"

* * *

Major Francis Mourningwood was a tall, rather intimidating fellow who didn't actually do all that much. He was in charge of the fort, but evaded most duties by sending someone out to do them for him. For the most part, he did paperwork and – when he wasn't doing that – he wrote plays. All of the soldiers were terrified of him, and refused to report back to him if the report wasn't exactly pleasing. He thought this was actually quite funny, considering he'd literally _never _hurt a fly.

He was a big, burly man who'd gotten by on life by riding coattails and kissing ass. His father had been general before him, so he never had to do much to begin with. He faked patrol duty and even faked injuries, constantly earning himself medals for his 'acts of valour', which were really just throwing himself down a flight of stairs now and then. The only part of his duties he ever actually bothered with was, in fact, paperwork. He loved the paperwork. If his father hadn't forced him into the army, he probably would have chosen something with more paperwork.

When he had first gotten the report on the ever-growing bandit clan, he had excused himself. And, he walked into his closet. Then, he wept like a little girl in complete terror. After the initial shock, he had sent word to the queen that she should come immediately to speak with him. He could honestly say he had absolutely no idea where to go from there, but, of course, he would never say such a thing.

Francis had met with the queen several times to discuss business, so, on any normal day, he wouldn't be nervous. But things usually went rather smoothly, so the idea of delivering bad news to the ex-hero queen filled him with great worry. Nobody could know how she would react nowadays, considering nobody was all that close to her anymore. Apart from her butler, so he heard.

Everyone knew of her recent struggles and the recent stress and the pressure for her and the king to conceive a new heir. Still, there was no news of anything, and everyone was worried. But none worried more than the queen herself, though she didn't show it as much anymore. She had grown much more lax, and ran around like she didn't care. News was, she even had plans to give up completely and declare Logan her successor, just in case. People said she slept fourteen hours a day, and then spent the rest of her day in the garden, with her butler, singing a quiet tune; something about reeds.

The trumpets sounded to announce queen Sparrow's arrival, and the major very nearly fell out of his great, big, balverine-head chair. He scrambled to clear his desk of the candy wrappers and scraped the latest pages of his play into his top drawer. Taking a deep breath, he flattened his uniform and hair then sat back, folding his arms over his chest, trying to look as tough as he could.

There was a knock at the door, and a tall, gangly man stepped in and looked around. He slowly approached the desk and looked Mourningwood in the eyes, his face stone-cold and almost frightening. "Now, the queen is very... tired today, and a feeling a little cranky. I suggest you don't test her; she will pound you into a pulp." The Major gulped.

Queen Sparrow walked in and looked around, waving Jasper off the poor, trembling man, dusted off the chair in front of the desk and sat down. She didn't sit down as was expected... She sunk deeply into the chair showing a complete lack of grace as she pulled up the single skirt of her less-than regal dress to her knees and sat Indian style, and looked at him, waiting for him to talk as though this was all very normal behaviour for a royal figure.

Francis cleared his throat and leaned in over his desk. Sparrow watched like a curious child. After a moment, she yawned and tossed her head back.

Jasper motioned for him to get on with it, and he couldn't say he was impressed by Sparrow's behaviour, even after she had promised to behave. He would expect her not to listen to the king, but she always listened to him. One such as Jasper might say she was indeed being a 'royal pain'.

It wasn't like her to be so childish. He had honestly no idea where it had all come from. She was known to be kind, modest... well-behaved... Garth had told him this had come out of absolutely nowhere shortly after Jasper had come under her employment. He wondered if it was because he did most mundane tasks for her, and she was growing accustomed to it. He should remember not to bend to her every will so often... but it wasn't so easy for him to ignore the woman.

"So, I called you here," the major gulped back some _major _anxiety, "to discuss some very important matters in the field of the kingdom's safety that has recently been brought to my attention..."

Sparrow yawned. "Well, feel free to bring it to my mine any time, now, because you've very nearly lost it completely at this point." She turned to smiled smugly at the butler who stood near the door. She knew should she be any person other than the monarch he would have slapped the arrogance right out of her then and there in front of the major. And she knew that he knew that's why she said what she did.

Mourningwood coughed politely and looked down at the papers he had on his desk. "Well, you see, your majesty, if you'll allow me the pleasure of your precious time, the problem is that my boys – er, men, have discovered something just a tad alarming and I thought you ought to know."

The queen scoffed and leaned forward in her seat, smacking her lips, eyes half-closed and purred arrogantly, "What the hell could be worthy of my precious time? Balverines? A whole pack? Been there, done that! A congregation of hobbes, maybe? Easily handled. Or is there a rapist on the loose, after the precious little porcelain dolls that you call an army? I'm sure they're bloody precious things. You know, back when I was living on the streets as just a little thing – poop"

"_Theresacampofbanditsupnortha ndtheresagoodcouplethousandm en_," he blurted out in one breath, almost completely without pause or breaks between words. When asked if he could kindly repeat what he had just said proper English, he took a second to calm his nerves. "There's a camp of bandits up North and there's a good couple thousand men."

Jasper really wished he could have taken the matter seriously, but the sheer expression of horror on Sparrow's face made every worry melt away with a wave of uncontrollable laughter. She turned to look at him once more, and he knew he was going to get it when she got him in private.

* * *

"How dare you laugh at me like that, Jasper? You made me look like a complete fool."

Sparrow was stomping off toward the carriage waiting for them outside of fort Dreadmor. She was crying, though her butler could not see and her voice did not betray her the way it usually did. Somehow, she managed to remain strong whenever she spoke nowadays. Her voice was always firm, even when she could hardly manage the next breath. Her chest ached and her muscles were weak, but she could only show strength.

Her eyes never could, though.

He followed closely behind. How could he have expected a little laughter would upset her so much? Usually he could get away with more than that. She usually loved having him pick on her, teasing her about her every little thing. It was the most peculiar thing, he thought. No, it couldn't have been just the laughter that made her snap; that was impossible.

"Please, my queen, forgive me!" he called after her.

She spun around suddenly and smacked him violently across his face. The sound of her hand colliding with his cheek was so loud she swore that even Theresa could have heard it from her precious Spire. Of course, she was not proud of it, but she would stand by what she had just done. She refused to be made a fool of.

"I ought to cut your tongue from your mouth," she screeched horridly. She knew she sounded like a child having a fit, but she didn't care. "You bastard! Why would do such a horrible thing?" Now she was sobbing rather violently. She gasped hopelessly for air as she struggled to stay standing. Her legs trembled, her knees buckled and she fell into her butler's arms as he dove in to catch her.

"Because you were being a royal –"

"Pain?"

"– bitch," he said coolly.

Sparrow opened her eyes and looked at Jasper, her sobs now suppressed, though tears still lingered in her eyes and on her cheeks. "Do you mean that, Jasper?" she asked softly, leaning her head into his shoulder as he struggled to carry her up into the carriage.

"No, my dear. Never," he replied even softer than she had asked the question, for she was already fast asleep in his lap.


	9. The Parting Of Ways

**Act I Part IX**  
**The Parting Of Ways**

* * *

Word spread quickly about the camp from soldiers writing home to their families, and the entire kingdom was in chaos within days. Sparrow was constantly interrogated – asked about what she planned to do and when – though she honestly had no idea. She supposed they could rush into battle before it was too late, but it seemed like the waste of a perfectly good army, and she was the only one capable of leading them into such a battle; it was sure to be a very bloody battle indeed.

Jasper knew how the queen was torn and he too felt unsure of the future. The queen frequented the old homestead to visit her daughter's grave and, though Garth only bothered to accompany her on occasion, Jasper always rode along with her. Upon the last visit, he went inside to make a small lunch as usual to leave her to her grief and came back to find her talking to herself. She was asking – begging – for guidance in tears. He had not been sure what to do. He'd stood and watched for a minute, hoping she did not see him, but the knot in his stomach forced him forward to comfort her, for which she was grateful.

She was up late most nights, now. After Garth had fallen asleep, she would get up and wander the gardens in her bedclothes, a long blanket wrapped around her. Some would say she looked somewhat like a ghost. And it wasn't the same grief that had taken over her before, though Garth liked to assume it was. No, Jasper knew that she was only scared. Like a child who'd had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep.

This was partially true, he knew. Her dreams were plagued with visions of death and loss now. She was terrified; if she ended up doing the wrong thing, or if she waited too long while trying to figure out the right thing to do, there were far too many lives at stake here, and she didn't make one of these choices often. Perhaps once or twice, and she'd never had the luxury of mulling the choices over.

Garth had some new weaponry commissioned. The fort had been fit with mortars all along the walls to make the soldiers feel a bit better about the situation, if anything. He suggested taking these into battle. The battle would be well over before it even began, he said, and Sparrow liked the idea, though she found it a bit dishonourable of a tactic - not that she could say much about honour these days.

Yes, the queen was still being a bit of a spoiled brat. Or, so Jasper thought. She was acting out, rebelling against him. It wasn't that she wanted to seem so spoiled. No, she just wanted a little more attention. And not just from the butler, though she loved having him lose it. Garth had become so involved in the kingdom's matters that he had pretty well completely taken over the rule, not that Sparrow really cared. But he was always so busy with _her _job that he hardly payed her any mind most days unless she striped naked, and even then he somehow managed to ignore her on occasion. But Jasper found it amusing, at least.

Once or twice of late did she visit Reaver's mansion. She didn't actually see much of him, though, but she was more interested in Logan, it seemed. Jasper accompanied her wherever she went, so he knew her best, and what he knew was that the time she spent with her son was the time she seemed the happiest, and Logan seemed fairly pleased by her visits as well. And so did Reaver.

She told him all kinds of wild stories, and sat with him in the drawing room by the fire with him in her lap, sipping wine and gently caressing his head until he had fallen asleep. Reaver and Jasper would sit in the library and speak with one another. They liked each other more than they liked the king, this was certain. Not that Jasper didn't find him to be completely awful in every possible way, they just found each other to be more agreeable. Perhaps it was because - despite them both loving to be complete asses to most people - they constantly sought after what made her majesty most happy in the long run.

They spent hours drinking whiskey and complaining about how the king neglected her when they were in each others company. Sparrow found the whole thing very cute, if that was the word for it. She would listen, sometimes, to their long rants about how they knew best and how Garth was an idiot. On one occasion, the two got completely drunk and nearly woke poor Logan up with their drunken promises to her of how they'd make her happy and how the three should all just get married. That ended with Reaver kissing Jasper rather passionately. He denies it ever happening.

Sparrow gazed out the window and sighed softly, shaking her head. She turned to her butler who sat reading in his chair, ignoring her constant whining. It was something that pained him so, and took great practice, but he had finally mastered it. When she sighed a second time and he still didn't look up, she sighed a third time, far more heavily, and flopped down on the loveseat next to the window.

Without so much as looking up, Jasper asked rather sharply, "What?"

"Jasper..." She sighed again. "Jasper, I'm bored."

The butler set his book down, took a sip of his orange juice and just gave her a strange look. "You know, being queen and all, your majesty, you could be doing plenty of things right now; you could read a book, paint something, garden, eat a big meal even though you aren't hungry. You could... take a stroll through town and buy all sorts of things you don't need. You could go kill something, or you could, you know, attend to your duties as queen for the first time in weeks. You could maybe even try to decided on what to do about those bloody bandits that are threatening the lives of everyone in the kingdom."

"Jasper..." She stretched out on the couch. "Jasper, I want you shut your mouth and make me a sandwich."

Jasper sighed. "Go make yourself one; I'm too tired to deal with you today."

Sparrow gasped and shot him a dirty look that he didn't notice. "I will fire you if you don't, Jasper."

"Yes, yes, I know the drill. And I know you would never do such a thing because you would miss me to damn much." He looked up and smiled at her smugly, and she lost it. He watched as she slowly tore apart a pillow and scattered the hundreds of feathers all over the floor of the drawing room. "And you know I'm not cleaning that up."

The queen pursed her lips and fell back on the couch, hurt and annoyed. She turned on to her side away from the butler as tears filled her eyes. Her cries were silent and Jasper didn't even notice she was crying until she spoke. "I ought to start a war. We'll take out those stupid bandits and I'll lead the soldiers into battle, if that's what you want. Maybe I should just let myself get killed and then it would be your fault, you know, because you were mean."

"You're being a spoiled brat," Jasper said, though he felt bad for making her cry. "You sound like a small, spoiled child. And it wouldn't be my fault, because I never said you should go to war. I say it seems like a dangerous move, if anything."

"What would you do if I went to war, Jasper?"

"I wouldn't stop you, if that's what you're wondering."

Sparrow turned on to her back and starred at the ceiling. "Wouldn't you miss me?"

"Probably not; you're quite the pain, you know." After a moment of silence he continued, "You do realize I'm just joking, right?"

"Jasper..." She sighed and turned to look at him. "Jasper, am I going to have to go to war?"

* * *

Sparrow stood silently looking down at the earth bellow her. Jasper stood next to her, watching the queen intently as though he expected her to breakdown at any moment. Reaver on her other side, doing the same thing. Logan stood off to the side wrapped in his guardian's cloak watching Reaver, studying his face and smiling to himself. When the man noticed this, he looked at the boy and he, too smiled.

They were here to see her off.

Garth was inside sipping tea or something. He didn't like to be around Sparrow when she went to visit her late husband; it made him sad to see such pain brought to her lovely face. Funny, as everyone else felt the same yet were willing to stick by her side should she need to cry, making them wonder why he had even come if he wouldn't comfort her or spend that little extra time with her before she left with the troop of soldiers marching North.

"Are you sure you should be doing this, your majesty?" Jasper asked quietly, looking at the ground to try and hide the sorrow in his face. "You had really ought to stay here and let the soldiers handle it..." He looked back up at her, but she didn't look at him. Instead, she closed her eyes and continued facing the ground, moving her moist lips silently as though she were speaking to her husband's grave. "Sparrow, please-" This he said in unison with Reaver. The two looked at each other and shook their heads, one just as concerned as the other.

Logan didn't like Jasper. Reaver had taken a shine to him, for some reason or another, and Reaver didn't take a shine to too many people. This he knew. And he did not like it when he came to visit, but he supposed it was worth it to see his mother, and he knew that was who the two men would rather be spending their time with, which made him feel special enough to forgive Jasper for intruding his life so suddenly and so boldly.

"Shouldn't you be worrying about producing an heir?" Jasper ventured, regretting it almost immediately as she shot him a dirty look. He bowed his head and bit his lip. This made Logan smile.

"Logan is a fine enough heir, don't you think?"

The young bastard perked right up upon hearing this. He looked at his mother who smiled at him, and he felt a strange sort of warmth growing inside of him. Even when he turned to look at the ground, the feeling was still there. It made him itch and feel uncomfortable, yet happy at the same time. Sparrow had never said something like that before... that he could one day be king of Albion...

"I agree wholeheartedly, your majesty," Reaver said, bowing low before her. This made Sparrow both smile and want to smack him and tell him not to be such a kiss-ass, but she decided not to.

Jasper was staring at her, expressionlessly. It wasn't that he was horrified, or thought that it was a terrible idea. In fact, he was very in favour of the queen's new affection for her son. It just felt strange to him - when she had said that. Almost as though she'd said it was _he _who would one day be king. His heart had very nearly stopped. Perhaps he was just not used to seeing her behave herself _and _being so kind. Yes... that was it.

Sparrow's smile was kind and warm and the men around her stood and soaked it in slowly. It was as though the old Sparrow was coming back... as a smile. The Sparrow from before she was a spoiled, annoying, needy brat, Jasper thought. The butler still couldn't hate the new Sparrow, though, for some reason or another. That didn't mean he didn't prefer the old one - the Sparrow he had first met. And Reaver certainly enjoyed it too. Sure, the new Sparrow was more like him - but he didn't like that.

Logan stumbled forward and looked up at her. He very slowly and very awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Sparrow did the same, and Logan very nearly started to cry. Jasper thought he might do so as well.

The boy wasn't so much of a boy anymore. He was growing up. And he had grown quite tall already, for thirteen. Nearly fourteen, now, he was nearly as tall as his mother, who was fairly tall herself. His body was gangly and awkward still, but his shoulders were fine and broad already - and he had plenty of muscle on him. Reaver seemed please by that, at least, even if he still teased him for his height; he might never reach his height.

"Thank-you, mother," Logan said softly. "I won't let you down."

"I know, Logan. I know."

Garth, who was watching from the window, scowled and sipped his tea quietly. He still didn't like the boy all that much. But he liked his wife going off on this crusade even less. She was going to get herself killed, he thought, for sure. He assured himself she was an experienced hero - strong and quick and strategic. That didn't mean she was allowed to go around putting the lives of young men at risk, too. Surely she would draw the line at her own.

A small troupe of soldiers was drawing near the house, and Sparrow turned her head to look at them. Her face sank and her stomach flopped. She pulled away from the hug and kissed her son on his cheek fairly fiercely and turned to Reaver. He in turn stepped forward and gazed at his feet, trying to tell himself she would be just fine while she was away, but he feared the worse.

No, he wasn't usually one to worry, but he certainly cared for the woman and didn't really wished to see her dead, even if that meant she could no longer belong to Garth - no matter how sweet that would taste. Yes, he would think of her every day and he would worry anyway. When he met her calm eyes with his own cold, green ones, he suddenly felt a thousand times better. Logan had the same eyes - warm, brown, beautiful and filled with the same brilliant spirit. The two were very alike, so he had faith in them both; he knew them both so differently, yet the same.

Tears came to her eyes swiftly, but she held their gaze. "Are you going to hug me, you silly bastard?" she asked quietly, her voice faltering. Reaver managed to hold his stony expression but decided it best not try to speak for fear of his voice giving him away. He instead nodded and stepped forward to meet her as she lurched forward and began crying into his shoulder softly as he held the body he knew was strong yet felt so weak at the time.

Jasper watched quietly, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled. He, too, refused to cry. Seeing the heir long-past caving in, he placed a hand gentle on the boy's shoulder and squeezed it gently. Logan looked at him, and the man smiled down at him. Logan reluctantly smiled back, and relaxed into the touch slowly, almost enjoying the warmth of the man's gentle fingertips stroke his shoulder gently. It felt... homely.

Sparrow soon felt detached from her body - like she was floating in the warmth that was Reaver. She wished so desperately never to leave his arms ever again until he whispered softly, "I love you."

"I know," she whispered back. She opened her eyes slowly, and noticed Garth walking towards them. She managed to pull herself away and rushed to meet him.

"You don't have to go, Sparrow," he said firmly, wrapping his strong arms around her slowly.

She closed her eyes and embraced him tightly. "No; I need to." She kissed her husband sweetly on the lips and looked at him fondly. He pursed his lips and looked away. "I will return swiftly and safely. This is just something that I need to do." When he still said nothing, she touched his face and whispered, "I love you."

"I know," he said, stepping away and quickly disappearing into the house.

And then there remained only one.

The butler stood, watching her as she turned her gaze to the ground clenched her fist, exhaling. Still not looking at him, she called out, "Ser Cuthbert, would you please escort me to the carriage?" This made him smile. When he got to her side and offered his arm to her, she looked at him and smiled too.

They walked the thirty yards or so very slowly. It felt like nearly an eternity. Half-way Sparrow rested her head on her servant's sturdy shoulder, and he in turn rested his own head on top of hers.

"Now, I suppose you'll be taking a vacation, then," she said casually.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to serve anyone else," he replied.

"And you'll stay here, I take it?" She thought about this for a second and continued, "No, no, I insist."

"And you'll come see me first, I take it?" He paused as she had before continuing, "No, no, I insist."

She laughed and nodded. "As long as you're willing to wait for me," she said softly.

Jasper looked at her as though she had offended him. "Well madam, I thought it was clear that I would always be willing to wait for you. However long you needed to be waited upon."

Having reached their destination, he took her cold hand and bowed down to kiss it softly, winking up at her. The waiting troupe of soldiers looked at him, and he looked back. "Take good care of her, boys," he called to them all, waving casually. She laughed as he stalked away in a very exaggerated fashion.

The queen turned to Walter Beck, who opened the door for her and helped her up and followed behind. He sat down next to her. Across from them was Swift and Mourningwood. She looked them all over once and smiled brightly at them. "Men, we are what a good man would call 'fucked', and as my late husband would say, 'balls to it all'."

"'Balls to it all'," Walter repeated, smiling. "Balls indeed."

* * *

Reaver and Logan sat in the drawing room, alone, by the dying fire. They had arrived back late, and it was nearly Midnight, but Logan wouldn't even begin to think about sleeping. The older man was thinking to himself about Sparrow's response. The boy was studying his guardian quietly, sinking into his armchair and sipping at his watered down brandy.

The hero of skill had changed lately. His hair was unkempt, his clothes wrinkled and there was a distinct stumble growing along his strong jaw. He had also noticed he didn't sleep as much, either. Instead, he would come in and sit on the chair in Logan's room, and watch him as the boy would pretend to sleep, not knowing that the boy, too, had trouble sleeping. And he didn't have any parties, let alone guests in the bedroom. It made Logan worry.

His green eyes starred into the glowing embers of the fire, looking almost lifeless and sad. Logan got up slowly but the man didn't notice or move as he walked toward him.

He put himself between his guardian and the fire and looked down at him. Reaver's eyes finally met his and twinkled in his otherwise lifeless face. The heir bent down so their eyes were level and cocked his head to one side. "You know she'll be fine," he said warmly. Reaver finally turned his head so he could look at him properly. "This is just fun for her. A harmless affair, if you will. Except with war."

Reaver smiled half-heatedly and laughed soundlessly. The boy reminded him so much of Sparrow, yet he was so different in the most perfect of ways. "I love you," he said, very nearly breathlessly.

"I know." Logan smiled.

Closing his eyes, Reaver reached out slowly and touched the smooth, pale skin of the boy's jaw. Logan remained still as his thumb traced the bone lightly down to his chin, then took the hand in his own and brought it up to his lips so he could kiss it. Reaver opened his eyes.

Logan leaned in very, very slowly, watching his guardian carefully, until their lips were inches apart, but ducked out of Reaver's attempt at kissing him and instead found the man's jaw with his scarred lips, just below the ear. He left a trail of kisses down his neck. Reaver tried to protest as the young man climbed into the chair and straddled him, but he looked at him so sweetly that he could deny him nothing.

His hands reached his shoulders and felt them; worked them. "You're so tense," he said sadly. "You ought to do something about that, master," he practically purred. Reaver frowned and turned away, trying to get the boy off of him.

"It's time to go to bed," he said. The boy just chuckled and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"What's wrong with right here?" he asked.

"Go to bed, Logan."

Something about the firmness in Reaver's voice made Logan jump. His face drained of colour and the smile instantly faded from his young face. He fell backwards onto the floor and looked at him in what Reaver thought must be fear. Logan scrambled both backward and to his feet. "What's wrong with you?"

"Is it a game for you? To take my love and make it some child's game? Is it funny for you?" Reaver was on his feet, now, too, and was yelling at the trembling boy.

After stuttering hopelessly for a few moments, Logan finally managed to reply. "N-no! You know very well that I feel just the same way for you, you horrid old man! But I guess it would be easier for you if it was just a game because you don't even know how to love!"

"You're just like your mother," Reaver roared. "A succubus whore!"

They were both crying, now. Reaver couldn't even remember the last time he had cried, and he could remember why he usually avoided it. He wanted to desperately to both smack the boy senseless and to hold him tightly until they had both stopped the dreaded waterworks.

"Oh really? Well then, let's take a look at what you've done to the only people you've ever loved, shall we?" Logan was very apparently angry at this point. "You had the first one brutally killed for the sake of your youth. Yes, WELL DONE." He sputtered a bit of incoherent, sobbing nonsense before continuing. "You drove the woman you loved into the arms of the man who had already destroyed her once, AND THEN you dragged her into an extra-marital affair that nearly tore her apart inside, then you keep insisting you love her when she already has a hard enough time staying away from you. WAY-TO-GO."

After a moment of silence filled with awkward sobbing, Reaver finally said, "And then there's you."

"And then there's me." Logan almost smiled at this. "You said you would look after me and protect me, Reaver. Instead, you used me as some weak replacement for my mother. You had me preforming oral sex on you before I knew what it was. I never stood a chance. That, I think, deserves a round of applause." He clapped for a while, staring his guardian down. "You then proceeded to turn me into a bundle of broken nerves and insecurities as well as a murderer. ABSO-BLOODY-LUTELY FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!" he screeched at the top of his lungs.

He looked at him, managing to keep his crying under control, though Reaver had no such luck. Logan actually smiled. "You say I'm too much like my mother. But I think the problem for you is that I'm not enough like her." Within seconds he had disappeared through the doorway and was running for his room, leaving a heavily sobbing Reaver behind him. The man fell to his knees and continued shaking violently.

Once in his room, Logan let the anger take over and forgot about suppressing his tears. He stumbled along the wall, knocking over a table and vase on the way to the bathroom adjacent to the room. After studying his reflection in the mirror for sometime, he began to look over the difference between himself and Sparrow - things that he had inherited from his father.

His cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunken, where Sparrow's were pronounce and beautiful. His hair was thin and straight; hers was thick and curly and wonderful. He was skinny and sorry to look at. Then, there was the scar on his lip from his fight with Rose. He felt it gingerly, then felt the reflection.

Without another thought, his fist was through the glass on the wall. His knuckles oozed scarlet and it stung horribly, but was numbed by his slight alcohol intake. And soon enough, the same fist was right through the glass of the window Reaver made sure to keep locked and closed.

After covering his new wounds with a towel, he squeezed his way out of the small opening and was soon climbing down the tall hedge that grew in front of the window. As soon as his feet were on the ground, he took off sprinting to get his horse. He mounted it quickly and was off down the road.

He would have to go find the closest thing to home he had other than the man who had broken his heart. Yes, he would go and stay with Jasper, because he certainly couldn't go to Garth.


	10. As Life Goes On

**Act I Part X**  
**As Life Goes On**

* * *

Logan was not really sure he had thought his plan through entirely once he'd walked up to the door of the farmhouse he'd been born in, and he wasn't sure how Jasper would take his arrival. He'd been led to believe he and Reaver were friends. But, of course, that might not be entirely true, considering Reaver did like to mislead him...

A tear ran down his cheek and he prayed for the tears not come back. He'd managed to tame it about an hour or two before and he was not sure how long a second time might take him. The heir had already suppressed so many feelings for so long without a second thought, and now that they were all coming up again, he was not sure how to shove them down any further. Maybe Jasper might be able to help, however a foolish notion it seemed.

After taking a deep breath, he reached and knocked firmly on the door three times. He wait for a minute, and knocked again. Shortly after, Jasper came to the door in a nightgown looking rather drowsy and disgruntled. The butler looked him over and then looked confused. "The sun's not even up yet. Whatever do you want?"

The prince meant to reply, he really did - he'd planned it out several times in his head along with several possible scenarios to go with it and he'd come up with something rather nice. Instead, something inside of him snapped, and the tears came back nearly instantaneously. And, after a few minutes of him standing there sobbing, Jasper ushered the poor boy into the house and shut the door.

Jasper tended to his wounded hand and put the tea kettle on, and made him some eggs and ham all quite quickly. He insisted the boy eat, and he did while the man sat at the opposite end of the table and watched him intently, sipping his tea quietly. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to know what had happened to drive Logan to come to him, or why he seemed so horribly upset, but he was Sparrow's son and need so desperately to be cared for that it nearly broke his heart to see him cry.

Some warm tea soothed Logan nicely, and Jasper got him some cleaner, warmer clothes and offered him the bigger bed to sleep in. Logan kindly declined and said the smaller bed would do just fine. It had been his bed for a few years before he'd gone to live with Reaver.

He sniffled at the thought and, finally, Jasper could take it no longer. He sat next to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around the boy's trembling shoulder. Logan looked up at him, his lip trembling furiously. "I never want to go back," he said.

Jasper nodded and pulled Logan in closer to himself, suddenly feeling a strange desire to vanquish all those that caused the boy harm. He wished he could protect him from all of the world's cruelties and bring him all of the happiness of the world. It was a strange feeling he couldn't remember ever having felt before, but he thought he might have an idea of what it was, and the thought made him smile, and he thought of Sparrow smiling back at him. Yes, he would do this for her.

"Now, you loved Reaver, right?" Logan nodded. "But, not as a father, or a friend." Logan shook his head and looked at the ground, and Jasper chuckled slightly at his bashfulness.. "Logan, if you're going to stay here with me until your mother gets back, I won't treat like any more of a child than you are, and you aren't much of one. I will respect you, and hopefully you'll respect me, too, and we will be friends. Or..." He paused to think about this himself before saying it. "_Or_, if you want, I could... love you, I suppose. As... a son."

A few brief moments of silence followed, and Jasper chuckled at himself. "You know, you don't have to worry about me. I assure you that I am very heterosexual."

Logan laughed at this and smiled. "Yes, I think I like that idea."

* * *

It was funny how Sparrow seemed to trust her butler so completely no matter what. He certainly couldn't rely on her for anything at all, yet he liked to try and trust her once and a while. Sometimes she would even make an effort not to let him down, too. Sparrow couldn't understand it herself, but she felt as though she owed him some sort of trust or affection; a feeling which really appeared out of nowhere the day she hired him. It was this strange feeling that she felt in the pit of her stomach, almost like guilt, but at the same time it wasn't.

But war was a funny thing, too, she thought. It had been ages since she'd felt so... alive..? Perhaps that was the word, but she wasn't sure... It was this strange feeling of both fear and adrenaline that just made her feel happy. And she hadn't slept more than five hours for the past week, but she felt well rested and ready to go like a sugared up child. And no matter how much she missed Jasper, and Logan, and Reaver-

No, wait, that wasn't right... Jasper had been at the top of the list, as though he were the first one she'd thought of. And she hadn't begun to think about Garth. Maybe she was just very exhausted, she thought to herself. And, really, if anything she missed Jasper because he would tell her stories to help her sleep and since she hadn't sleep for days... And yes, she missed having him bring her whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. The queen was indeed fairly hungry and tired of the bland, small rations she received. She would have sent for something better, but perhaps she was just too lazy.

Official word was that they were waiting. Waiting for what, exactly, nobody was sure. This grace period lasted for eight more days, and was bone-chillingly quiet. Anticipation lay thick in the air, as well as the eerie silence which made every man's hair stand on end. Despite the lack of action, sentries never slacked - the encampment was indeed heavily guarded, if only to protect the queen herself from any danger. And if it bother anyone, it was Sparrow herself.

The queen was keeping a journal just to keep herself occupied between the very boring talk of strategy. She knew Jasper would be curious when she returned... and probably Garth. Yes, he would also be worrying about her, his wife. But Jasper would be the first person she would see, she supposed... She would stay at the homestead a night before returning, she had decided, as a night of peace, before returning to her busy life. The farm was such a peaceful and warm place...

Something about the castle had always seemed... cold to her. Garth said it was probably the harshness of the walls and the endless echoes that could make one feel so hopelessly lost and alone. An almost poetic thought from the man. The stone was indeed very - quite literally - cold while the farm was constructed of nice – practically kind – wood. And it had been her home for years; it was the home where all of her children had been born.

For some reason, she liked to imagine Jasper when she returned to him, smiling and waving, waiting just as he'd promised with a freshly baked pie just for her. And she would hug him, and he would hug her, and then he would tell her that everything was alright again, and she would be safe, and they would eat the pie and he'd tuck her into bed and tell her a story. If she ever returned.

To her, the so-called talk of strategy seemed fairly purposeless. Walter would have agreed with her. The general would sputter out the same plan, again and again, ask what the queen and Swift thought - and Walter, for good measure. They would tell him, every time the same as before, that they were still just fine with it, and Walter and Swift would then ask if their opinion on the matter should really be taken into account and if there wasn't someone of higher rank than a 2nd lieutenant who should be there in their place. Then it was explained to them, the same way every time, by Sparrow, that procedure to the queen wasn't 'worth shit'.

It was obvious to anyone with a brain that the general was just trying to stall for as long as possible, in some misguided hope that the bandits would all disappear. He could honestly say the whole conflict didn't really make all that much sense; a bunch of bandits got together and that meant that an entire army had to get together and fight it out with them. There wasn't much sense to it – it was a civil war at best.

Sparrow liked Walter very much. Not very much at first, but he did indeed like her very much and decided he would win over her friendly affections. He didn't really have to do much, as she already enjoyed his company and was quite the fan of his general attitude towards life - however you might describe it – and his humour. But then, he would bring her some extra food he'd found, like the chocolate the general had been hoarding, and she was very grateful.

They had a love affair, her and the chocolate. Some of the finest stuff around, anyone would say. Sparrow would even lick her fingers shamelessly and even scrap out every last bit of crumbs or melted smudges that she could, even in the company of others, which Walter found rather entertaining. So, yes, she was thankful and did indeed like him quite a bit. She decided they would stay friends, and she would tell him about Jasper and how well they would get along.

After a week of waiting and another of Mourningwood's stalling, another troop of soldiers rolled in, deciding that they'd like to take over the state of affairs and see if they couldn't get things moving along.

"Go home, princess, and leave the war to the men," the leader of the group had said. He was a general, too, only he seemed to have no respect for the hero. Garth had apparently sent for him, knowing him from his years working for Lord Lucien, in hopes he might convince Sparrow to return home before she got hurt. His was name Solomon Turner, and he very obviously did not like Sparrow one bit.

"Don't you realize who you're speaking to?" she had demanded, her face growing red as a tomato, looking up at him as he rode along on his fancy horse all rather offensively 'fancy-like'. "You, ser, are serving under me, and that's something you'd best not forget." She was obviously quite offended by him, taking what he said personally. She didn't know he shared that contempt for anyone who declared their-self Albion's monarch. "I want him gone," she told Mourningwood.

Francis shrugged as though he hadn't quite understood her. He didn't really want to have it out with the other general, and he quite liked the idea of having someone take over. Maybe that way, he could avoid the battle entirely; a thought which delighted the coward immensely, needless to say. Sparrow, however, wanted to hit him very hard. In his face. With her fist. Repeatedly.

"I'm here under the order of the king himself and, seeing as your on a bit of a... _hiatus_from your royal duties at the moment, I don't think that there's much you can do in regards to my presence," he said.

"Might I point out that we were here first?" she said, realizing how stupid it sounded long before it left her lips.

* * *

_'My dearest of Jaspers,  
I'm not as well as I'd like to be. I've been eating too much chocolate lately, I suppose. If I go into battle like this, I'm sure to cramp up.  
Today, a two-assed horse rode into camp and decided it owned the place. And apparently, he pretty does thanks to our very fine king, Garth. I'm so completely thrilled that I could throw up. And he's decided that too little progress is being made with our scouting missions, so we're apparently just going to charge into battle the day after tomorrow.  
I'm not sure when you'll get this, or if I'll write again. If I don't, then it's safe to assume I'm either dead or on my way to your arms. No, scratch that - terribly worded. Well, balls, it's in pen and I don't want to scribble it out. Just pretend I said something different.  
I trust all is well with you and that you're having a lovely vacation away from bratty old me. I hope Garth is enjoying his peace and quiet for the time being, because when I get home, he's getting hell.  
If I get home...  
Well, I'll be thinking of you._

_Sincerely,  
Sparrow'_

Jasper set the letter down and sighed. No, he didn't care much for where this was all headed, and he certainly didn't find her uncertainty amusing - whether it was sarcastic or not. But his thoughts were interrupted by Logan wishing to hear news of his mother. If anything, he just hoped she'd return. For Logan's sake. And for his own.


	11. As The Tension Builds

**Act I Part XI**  
**As The Tension Builds**

* * *

The morning's arrival was met with silent awakenings and stealthy preparation for Albion's army. A gentle wind blew through the towering trees of the forest stealthily, quietly whispering to the men and woman in the camp. Hardly a bird called, or flew through the skies, as though they all knew of what would happen later that day in their home. Walter found this particularly eerie, and told Swift so, who thought nothing of it but sad. So the Lieutenant simply went back to vigilantly watching the skies overhead, searching for some sort of life, until a single sparrow flew overhead.

Walter shuddered.

Something about the stillness of the cold air made Sparrow nervous. It made her think of mornings in the garden after a night of handling Garth sloppily throwing himself upon her after 'drinking away his foolish politics', as he called it. That was what most nights consisted of of late, which made her wonder if he even loved her anymore. No, now she only got love from Logan. That's why she visited him so frequently; he would always care for her. He needed nothing more from her but her own love.

Just before morning would come, she would never feel... right. She would sneak out of bed and into the garden and sit at the foot of Rose's statue. Then she would walk and sit in the gazebo hidden in the hedge, where she felt safe, and she gazed out across _her_ Bowerstone – _her home_. Jasper would find her before sunrise, and he would smile, and she would smile, and he would hold her hand, and they would watch the sun rising above Albion together, and she would cry.

Jasper was really the best friend she'd ever had, considering he wasn't a sex maniac like Reaver. In fact, he was modest, if anything. Sort of a prude, too. She wrinkled her nose at that thought and laughed noiselessly. But, when it came down to it all, she missed Hammer like nothing else. It would be nice to have a female friend for once, she thought. And she'd always been a good friend when she'd been there. Now, however, she hardly ever saw the Hero of Strength. This thought made her sad.

Then there was that terrible pain in her heart. It kept bothering her lately. It had been there even before she had hired Jasper, but it had only gotten worse since. Deep within her heart – her _soul_ – was a longing so powerful and overwhelming that it brought tears to her eyes. Longing for a simpler time. For the time before everything had happened, before it all got complicated. When it was only her, and Garth, alone, in their little forest hideaway.

When there had been no Jasper, or even a need for Jasper. And there was no guilt, and no memories of Reaver, or how wrong and yet wonderful he had felt. And Logan was never on her mind, and she owed nothing to anyone. When Garth loved her alone, and, she; him. It was a longing for his loving touch, and his loving eyes, as he gently caressed her pale skin, and there was nothing but him and his warmth and her love for him. That was all she ever needed, all she thought about and all there ever was. But she couldn't ever have that again, no matter how desperately her own sanity depended on it.

She stood up and went to find Walter.

As she passed by them, the soldiers all paused their preparations and bowed – which she hoped they wouldn't do in battle. Some soldiers were sharpening swords, polishing pistols, saddling horses and saying their prayers to whatever gods they could, even the ones made up by lowly merchants. It was the first time she'd heard Avo used in a way other than a curse.

He was in his tent, as she suspected he would be. As she entered, he quickly hopped up off the crate he was sitting on and rubbed his eyes with his fist. In his other hand was a piece of worn parchment which had evidently been handled enormously over its lifetime. Walter looked at her, and cleared his throat to end the silence. "I, um, wasn't expecting you..." His eyes wandered through the mess.

Sparrow shrugged. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I just... really wanted to see you, never mind the inappropriateness of that. I only need to keep my mind occupied to keep myself from going completely insane." She chuckled humorlessly. "What's that?" she asked, gesturing toward the letter in Walter's hand.

"A letter," he replied coolly.

She chuckled again, this time far more genuinely than before, a smile gracing her lips for the first time in a while. "That much is obvious, Walter." They both stood in silence, smiling at each other. It was a nice feeling. "From who?"

"My sister, Marni. I'm the only family she's got left, you see." His smile faded, and he turned his gaze toward the ground. "Her fellow left; the bastard. Skipped town with some hussy. And our parents... they've been gone for years." He looked up at her again, his smile returning, but his voice faltering as he spoke, "She's having a baby in a few days. I just hope I'm back in time, you know? She's my baby sister... she shouldn't have to be alone, right?"

Suddenly, they were hugging. Sparrow had stepped forward, to comfort him, and he ended up crushing her in his strong arms. Not that she minded. In fact, she was thankful that she could bury her face in his warm, sweet smelling coat. Tears welled up in her eyes. She missed her big sister.

Walter quickly stepped back, and Sparrow wiped the tears from her eyes. "I- I'm sorry," he said quickly, deepening his voice, and puffing out his chest in some last attempt to earn back her respect for him as a man after losing himself like that. "That was a bit... embarrassing to say the least."

This made her laugh through the tears, making her into an even bigger mess. But she felt better for it. "It's quite alright. More than alright, even. I understand, Walter. I do." They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, both unsure of what to say. "So... any names in the works?"

They both laughed. "Well, I'm really hoping for a tough little nephew, and I personally like the name 'Osmund'. It's very tough."

"And sort of... laughable."

He scoffed. "Well, either way, if it's a boy, she likes Elliot. It's not like my opinion matters, as her brother..."

"And for a girl?"

"Our mother's name was Elise. We both agreed that would be nice."

Sparrow smiled and hummed tunelessly. "That _is _nice."

* * *

"..._k_now _that my thoughts are with- _ughhh... _you. I miss you terribly, as we-_eh-eh-_ll as Logan. Give him my- a_hhh..._love. Let him know I- _ughnnn... _fight for him._" Having read the scribbled signature of his queen, Reaver let the letter he had been reading aloud fall to his feet. He took a swig of whiskey and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. A heavy sighed escaped his parted lips.

He couldn't lie; he'd been a mess since Logan had run away. But he knew there was no sense in chasing after the boy, no matter how desperately he wanted to. He hated being the one at fault, and this was obviously the case. The guilt had been unbearable, so he drunk his days away and tried to keep his mind off of the subject with his sexy parties and various partners in the bedroom, though it was no use. Nobody could replace Logan.

His knees grew weaker, and his legs threatened to give in, but he was too good for that. "Can you believe this garbage?" he asked the few people in his bed, craning his neck so he could see them. He chuckled, and they all followed suit, unsure of how they should feel, but not wishing to upset the clearly unstable man. Who, in their right mind, after all, upset a naked man holding a pistol who was piss-ass drunk?

"Ha. Ha. Hahaha- ahhhh... ughnnn..." His laughter was cut short, as his body shook involuntarily, the as the release that had building from the fellatio he was being given finally overtaking him. But he held a straight face, the emotionless business man he was. And business was all it was.

When the man knelt before him stood, he looked him dead in the eye and smirked wickedly. As the man he struggled to remember the name of made a move in toward him, he quickly brought his pistol up and shot him square in the forehead. "Like I'd want to kiss you after _that_."

If there was anything he knew about anything lately - and it seemed to him as though he knew nothing of late - was this; nobody was worth tasting unless it _her._ Or _him_, for all he cared. Like mother, like son, he thought, smiling.

The room went dead silent in response. Reaver simply shrugged it all off and disappeared down the hallway, still completely in the nude. His feet carried him to his study, though he had never given any thought to where he was actually going. He simply obeyed, and allowed himself to be brought before his desk. And his hands, too, acted without his brain, opening the upper-left drawer and pulling out every letter Sparrow had ever sent him. That drawer was special; the knob was golden like the rest, but several tiny gems had been worked in around it. He liked it.

Once, when he had visited the castle, he had seen the inside of Sparrow's study. She had shown him her desk – which she had stolen from his manor in Bloodstone – and where she kept various things. He smiled, remembering her refusing to open her upper-left drawer. It was locked, of course, but he wrestled the key off of her and opened it for himself. It was where she kept all of his letters, as well as 'photo', he believed it was called.

Yes, that man with the box had taken it. Sparrow had known him. And he shot him, right in front of her, and she had held him as he died, and she spoke his name... Barnum, it was. It had never occurred to him that it had been 'developified'. He had locked the device away in his attic... But, yes, he supposed she had stayed there for those few months after...

He could never seem to fathom how Garth had always managed to keep such a firm grip on Sparrow's heart, even after he had left her, when he had always loved her with all his heart. And yes, he hated to admit it, but he was jealous, and he longed for her so badly he feared his heart may break. He needed to hold her close to him, no matter the impossibility of it all, and he would give anything to have her come home to him. He would glad give anything he had ever had with Logan simply to have her. But it was impossible. And Logan was all he would have, so he knew he had to get him back.


	12. End Act I: Can't Hold On, Can't Let Go

**Act I Part XII**  
**Can't Hold On, Can't Let Go**

* * *

"WALTER!"

It was hell. Men lay everywhere either dead or dying. Swords clashed, pistols fired left and right. The worst was over, though, for sure. It was time for the final push. But something inside her stomach made Sparrow feel sick. She had lost Walter moments earlier, and couldn't see him anywhere. She didn't even want to search the ground for him. The mere thought that she might just have to brought tears to her eyes.

Sparrow had not expected such a violent battle. These men were trained, as well as organized. Almost as much so as the soldiers she'd brought into battle. The havoc they could have easily wreaked on the kingdom had they been left to their business would have been the end of them. If group had grown any larger...

When they'd first marched into battle, Sparrow had been admittedly terrified. Enough so that she'd begged Walter not to leave her side. Or to let go of her hand. The thought of him holding on to her was more than enough comfort for her to relax a bit. It had been so long since she'd last rode into battle. She wasn't fearless anymore. She had so much more to live for; so much more to love and hold dear that she couldn't bear the thought of leaving it all behind, and so she feared death.

Not only did she feel like she owed it to herself to live, but she felt like she owed so much to Logan, who she'd had neglected so much over his short life, when she loved him so much, and he didn't even know. And if anything, getting to go home and hold him again and tell him that she would never leave him ever again and that she would love him like she was supposed to - that was worth living for. Logan needed her, just as he always had, so what gave her the right to die now? To die here, before she could tell him one last time that his mother loved him more than anything, and that she was sorry for everything, and that if she could go back, she would not have taken her anger out on him for whatever life she'd had to lead, and she would not have left him with Reaver, of all people.

Looking back, she'd made so many mistakes, and she now realized she had so many things to make up for that she had not done, things that she had regretted not doing, and things she most certainly regretting doing, or allowed to happen. And she could not die now, and make all of pain and suffering useless, after all this time, and all her fighting. She had to live, and fight some more, and fix her mistakes and love what she had neglected. She was not content in her current life and she would not allow herself to go down now, before she was truly happy, without a fight.

Explosions were going off every which way. People and various miscellaneous parts flew off in every possible direction. A severed hand actually flew out and hit Sparrow square in the jaw. Even the dead were still fighting, she thought. Whatever humour lay in that statement was lost on her as another mortar shot and the blast came just a few feet away. Her ears began ringing something awful.

Walter, right. She still had to find Walter.

Something in Sparrow's stomach felt wrong. And then, she spotted him, a good twenty or thirty yards away. With a swift couple slashes of her cutlass, she sliced four men clean in half with almost no problem. And here she was, thinking herself out of practice. She cut her way through the crowd, until she was just steps away from Walter, who was laughing and slicing and dicing and having a grand old time, as far as battles go.

She half-smiled to herself, almost forgetting where she was, but kept up her fight full-force, just as he did, until they were side-by-side, cutting bandits down left, right and centre like proper heroes. Sparrow felt like her old, fiery self again. "Hello, Walter, how are you?" she asked as casually as she possibly could with blood splattering all over her clothes and face, which was surprisingly casual, actually.

"Oh, I'm fine," Walter replied with slight strain in his voice. He was getting tired, Sparrow could tell, but he wasn't going to give up anytime soon. That, she was sure of. "I'm definitely feeling much better now that you're here, my queen, I must say. Not just because I was missing you and thought I'd lost you back there. But because you're Albion's greatest warrior." He probably would have smiled, but he may have gotten blood in his mouth, and that would just be unpleasant for everyone involved. "This seems but a dream, my queen."

There was bandit standing about ten yards in front of them. Sparrow could see him clearly, now. For some reason, he stood out among the rest. And with the screams, and battle cries, and explosions and gunshots, she could have sworn she could hear this man take deep breath – hardly over over the sound of her heart beat, but she did – as he brought his pistol up. It all seemed to slow down, and Sparrow felt sick. And she looked him dead in the eye, almost completely frozen in place, and he met her eyes with – not an icy, cold stare of a criminal, but - the soft eyes of a child. Then, he looked to Walter. As he slowly pulled back on the trigger, she could not move a single muscle.

When the shot fired, she sprung from her position next to Walter and in front of him. She had no idea why she did, and he certainly had no idea why the queen had jumped so suddenly in front of him as though to block his path of destruction. Then he realized what had happened. And he let out the faintest, broken whimper, like a scared child, and felt a single tear well up in his eye. In his confusion, his reaction was horribly slow. He tried to push her out of the way, but it was already too late.

The shot hit her with a remarkable force that nothing could have prepared her for – except for maybe getting shot in the chest. Because she had just just been shot in chest, and she couldn't breathe, and she felt so bone-chillingly cold that she couldn't even remember what not being cold had even felt like. She felt like every last bit of life was being squeezed out of her body, and every last memory seemed to be floating in the air in front of her, escaping from her weak grasp, and she could hardly see anything at all anymore.

She would not have even known Walter was holding her tightly and sobbing into her blood-soaked mid-section had he not spoken to her. She could hardly hear him over the ringing in her ears and the bloody battle going on around them. "I've got you, Sparrow. Don't worry, old girl, I won't let you go. Don't you leave me now, my friend. You're going to go home, and see your boy, and you'll introduce me to that butler of yours, because you know we'll be good friends. We'll all be good friends. You can't leave me now, Sparrow. Why'd you have to do that? You didn't have to do that. You _have_ to live now. You'll get up and walk away from this thing. C'mon, Sparrow, stay with me!"

A few of her soldiers took noticed and came running to their side, fending off the hoard to protect their hero queen and her sobbing friend. They called for help and a doctor – for anyone to come and help her get away from the blood bath. The other dying men could wait - she was their queen and they could not let her die now. She would be fine. She would produce another heir. She would rule their kingdom for many years to come, and she would die an old woman, in her bed, not on the battlefield of a stupid, pointless fight against a bunch of bandits.

Her eyes were filled with tears, and starting to flicker closed. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. Even if she had been able to speak, she simply had no idea what she was would even say. To think she might never wake up from the the sleep that was surrounding her – that caressed her and called to her softly – and that she may never say anther word. Not to Logan, who she loved with all her heart; not to Garth, her husband; not to Jasper, her best and, well, only friend. Not to Reaver. And something, for some reason, hurt much more as the last thought that crossed her mind. Her gasp of pain was audible to Walter. Through the blood bubbling out from between her rose-petal lips, she tried one final time to speak, "Re-... I... Re-..." She relaxed and closed her eyes, letting Walter embrace her cold body.

**End Act I**


	13. Act II: The Hunger

**Act II Part I**  
**The Hunger**

* * *

Word of what had gone down during what would come to be known as the battle that started it all had begun to reach all corners of Albion within a few shorts days, and its people were not happy. The monarchy was failing them, and rebels began to act out - some in calm manners and others in more destructive ways. The King was displeased - demonstrators were being snatched up and thrown into prison. This only ruffled more feathers. Everything was in near complete disorder.

None of this, however, had reached the ears of Jasper Cuthbert, who had spent the past couple of weeks alone with Logan in the cabin in the woods, cooking, sleeping and relaxing. He could honestly say he'd really enjoyed the time he'd spent with Logan. Jasper very much liked the lad, and Logan very much liked him. The butler could see so much of Sparrow in her son; all the things he loved. He was a sort of exaggerated, smaller version of his mother, with a sharper tongue and a lost, beaten puppy look about him, which made him want to just hug him tighter and tighter until he just popped out of his damaged skin, and into a happier self.

Logan actually, for the first time since he could remember, missed his mother. Jasper was certainly a better substitute for her than Reaver, but he would have given anything to have his mother back again. Every night, he dreamed that she would come hobbling down the dirt trail, and he would run into her arms and she would tell him that she loved him and they would cry in perfect happiness, and then she would never leave him again. She wouldn't go home to Garth, who had been so unkind to him all these years, and the three of them could live there, and nobody – not Garth, not Reaver – would ever find them there. But then he would wake up, and he would crawl into bed with Jasper, and he would cry, and some times Jasper would cry too, but he would hide it.

Something made Sparrow so inexplicably hard not to love, until the point it became so completely impossible not to feel empty when she had left you. She was so wonderfully damaged but her spirit remained in tact, with that same glow of hope in her eyes, that made it so you couldn't help but want to fix every wrong that had ever been done to her. She was so incredibly brave, and adventurous, and wonderfully spontaneous and ever-changing, there was always something new to enjoy about her company. She made life for Jasper _better _somehow, like just the thought of her made him happy. To think she'd said she would come back to _him. _As though, he thought, he was her home. As though anything could ever tie that woman down.

After Sparrow's last letter, there was a few days before he heard anything at all. And when the letter did finally come, it was not from Sparrow. The handwriting was stretched and strained - not like Sparrow's curled printing at all. The parchment was rough, and smelt like sulphur – Sparrow's always smelled just like she did. Jasper felt no comfort in holding in, though he could not have imagined feeling worse until he began to read was the letter itself actually said.

_Jasper_,

_We don't know each other, but Sparrow spoke of you a great deal in the days leading up to the battle. You've probably heard of me. If not, that's alright too. My name is Walter, and I am a friend of Sparrow_'s. _I know you meant a lot to her, so I thought I would let you know. It is unpleasant, but-_

He couldn't read past the word _'_shot'. Something inside him broke. He dropped to his knees and stared at the dirt blankly, unable and unsure of how to process this news. Or how he could possibly tell poor Logan, who was coming out to see him as tears welled in his eyes. The letter fell from his hand. He didn't want to read it anyway. He wanted to tear it up.

Then he noticed Logan was standing over him, watching the trees, his hand on Jasper's head. He was trying to get the older man's attention. "Jasper." He was looking the path, pointing at it, too, trying to get Jasper to look too. "Jasper, look." He rubbed his head, grabbed his greying hair, and pointed again. "Jasper, please. Jasper, look." When Jasper finally did look up at him, the boy was gone - running off down the narrow dirt path through the trees toward the figure figured hobbling forward.

"Jasper." It was another voice who called to him. "Jasper, look at me. Please."

And he did. Jasper turned his head and looked up at them both, his whole body completely frozen in place as his eyes met those gorgeous brown orbs that glowed with hope and masked pain, and he felt a slight sob escape his frail body when she knelt and embraced him as tightly as she could with a bullet wound in her chest, and she sobbed a bit too into the crook of his neck, and took a deep breath of him, holding on to it as long as she possibly could before she just broke down in front of her own son, who was wrapping his arms around both of them. Sparrow just rubbed her face against Jasper's neck softly, leaving a kiss so slight he couldn't possibly have noticed.

Still, he did, and he smiled against her shoulder, feeling complete again for the first time in a while. And then, he suddenly felt completely wrong. He pulled away from them both and began swatting at Sparrow as though she were a fly. He pointed at the letter Walter had sent him and yelled quite loudly, "If I might ask _your highness_, what the bloody _fuck _is that?!"

She grabbed it and scanned it quickly. "Oh, yes. The second paragraph, not that you bothered to read it, explains that I'll be quite alright. Which, as you can see, I am. But you will have to be gentle with me," she said jokingly, and Logan laughed, though he felt very unsure of what she meant and felt the slightest bit uncomfortable. "I just need my bandages to be changed every day or so. I'm a hero; it'll heal in no time. Also, what is Logan doing here?"

"I just... wanted to be the first to see you," Logan said quietly but surely, and Sparrow didn't doubt him. "And I'm glad I was here."

"So am I."

* * *

Once they'd finished a late super Jasper had cooked and set the dishes aside, Logan went to bed early and left the adults to their bandage changing. It sounded strange, but Sparrow smiled when Logan had said it, and he was glad he'd made his mother smile. She looked as though she were in a lot of pain when she was moving about the house, and when she sat down or stood up or bent over or did just about anything, but she seemed to be a little more at ease after her two glasses of wine she drank during supper, if only slightly.

Jasper filled a basin with hot water and got out some fresh bandages. Sparrow did not want to be touched anywhere near the wound. It throbbed and stung like hell when she _thought _about it being touched, and she told this Jasper, who laughed at her and told her not to be such a child. So, she undid her shirt and covered herself with a robe so that she was somewhat decent. It did not really matter, since Jasper had done things like this all the time. It just seemed like an eternity since the last time. As though things were different for that, somehow. And they were; they'd missed each other so terribly, that they felt as though they could get lost in the other so easily. Every single touch was a gift.

"The water isn't too warm, is it?" Sparrow asked, climbing on to the table with some help from Jasper. She settled in as much as she could while sitting on a cold, hard wooden table with a couple of pillows thrown on it. Of course, it'd been so long since she'd last tasted the luxury she'd grown accustomed to as queen, and this, after all, was better than what she'd come from.

"Nope. It's just how you like it, my queen. You trust my memory, don't you?" He pushed the corner of the robe down her shoulder and started cutting down the bloodied bandages. He removed them carefully, and got the warm cloth. When he took a moment to look at the wound himself, he shivered, the amount of blood nearly unbearable at first glance.

"Hardly," she chuckled. She winced, though, when he tried to clean the wound with the cloth.

"Sorry. Is the water alright?"

Sparrow locked her jaw and smiled. "Yes, actually," she muttered through clenched teeth. She had to bite down on her own hand to keep from crying out, but it was not as bad as she expected it to be. Jasper worked carefully, hovering over her, his breath tickling her cold shoulder. When he got to wrapping the fresh bandages around her, though, she found it hard to keep still. He placed a warm hand on her bare shoulder to try to calm her. She shuddered at the touch.

When he'd finished, he lingered over her, his forehead nearly touching her neck, his hand on her shoulder, and his other hand on the table on the other side of her. He stared at her pale skin, silently, breathing a little louder than he would have liked to. Sparrow did not notice; she was busy sitting in the silence, eyes closed, holding her own breath, feeling their bodies almost touching in so many places but not. There was just his hand on her shoulder, and his breath on her neck and she could hardly focus on both at one time. Finally, she managed to speak, though her voice was unsteady, "I missed you." He wasn't just the servant she couldn't possibly live without; he was her best friend.

Simultaneous, they both leaned forward just ever so slightly into the other, so his forehead rested between her shoulder and her neck, and she smelled just as sweetly as always. His warms tears ran against her skin. Sparrow couldn't help but gasp. Jasper's breath caught in his throat as he tried to speak. It was a nearly incoherent, "Missedyoutoo." It hung there, too, once he'd said it. Now it'd been said, and neither knew how to get away from this perfect position they were in, especially since they both wished they could stay like that forever. But it was highly inappropriate whatever it was.

Then, she realized what it very nearly was, how perfect it was, and how badly she needed it. She brought her hand up against the back of his head, and urged him closer. His lips were on her collarbone, brushing against her skin so incredibly sweetly she thought she may cry. He kissed her skin softly, again and again, slowly working his way up her neck and down her jaw line and just below her lower lip and Sparrow let out an audible whimper as she opened her eyes and saw him looking up at her. She slid down off the table, their lips finally connecting and it hit them with an unimaginable amount of force.

His hands were on her waist, keeping her as close as he could, never wanting to leave her lips for as long as he lived. But, of course, as mortals do, they broke for air, which gave Sparrow's nimble fingers time to remove Jasper's coat and shirt. She let her robe slide down her slender body, and let their skin touch. It wasn't just a _want_ to feel it, it was a _need_. A hunger.


	14. Old Scars & Tarnished Gold

**Act II Part II**  
******Old Scars & **Tarnished Gold

* * *

When Sparrow awoke, she could smell the distinct smell of Jasper and his wonderful perfume, the sweet smell of home and an apple pie being baked downstairs. She didn't want to open her eyes. She just wanted to sit there for a moment, and let it all sink in slowly. It was a moment she never wanted to end, and she thought, as she held her breath for what seemed like a thousand years so as not to disturb the perfect balance of the world, it might just last many more moments.

Sparrow smiled as she remembered the night before. How he'd touched her skin so softly it brought tears to her eyes, and how much she had missed him, and then how they'd kissed. Jasper usually sent her to bed with a kiss on the forehead, but she'd never truly appreciated how magical it'd felt, and how amazing his lips felt. It was better than returning home; for Sparrow, Jasper _was_home. And she'd truly returned to him, and now she felt as though she could belong to him forever. And she wanted to, and she was certain he wanted her to, too, and she was more than glad.

Feeling their skin touching in so many places under the covers, Sparrow let out a sigh of sweet relief. It felt like lightning running through her – a feeling she was surprisingly familiar with – except better and less painful. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so perfectly at ease and happy all over; perhaps this was the first time. But as she let go of the breath, she let go of the moment.

The curtains were being drawn back, and the sun began to attack her violently, illuminating the happiness darkness of the back of her eyelids. She buried her face in Jasper's chest, and groaned both in the displeasure of waking and in the pleasure of his wonderful warmth. She could feel his arms tighten around her, and his breathing picked up, but he hadn't yet fully woken up. But Logan ruined it, "Rise and shine, sleepy head. It's such a beautiful day. 'Tis the happiest of days, and you're going to spend it in bed with your butler? I think not!"

"Are you baking pie?" Sparrow asked Jasper's bare chest coolly.

"Yes," Logan replied. "Apple. Jasper taught me."

"Apple-birthday pie? The very best kind!"

Logan smiled and looked down at her, managing to envy both his mother and Jasper. He almost wanted to crawl into bed in between them, and be as happy as they were. No, that was a lie. He very much wanted to do so, and he almost did, before he realized that was completely absurd, despite Sparrow being his mother and Jasper being his father-figure. He'd always wanted to crawl into bed in between mummy and daddy; he'd just never really gotten the chance. "Mind if I wake your sleeping companion?" he asked almost smugly.

Despite everything, Sparrow flushed a deep red. She done something very naughty, and here Logan was laughing at it as though it were the simplest, nicest thing in the world. Perhaps it was. She dare not think about the possible consequences now. It was best to enjoy the moment, and to laugh with her son who seemed so perfectly content with her adulterous deed. Still, she could not removed her face from the comforts of Jasper's chest to face Logan, for her cheeks were still hot with embarrassment, and she couldn't afford to lose anymore face.

Her chuckling was enough to wake Jasper, though, who simply groaned and shut his eyes tighter against the sunlight that came in through the window. He had yet to notice the presence of the young heir who stood over them when he lowered his forehead to Sparrow shoulder and kissed her bare skin. "Good morning," he said, still hardly awake.

"Afternoon," she corrected, gazing over at the old grandfather clock that stood opposite the bed. "You've gone and overslept.

He chuckled and let out a soft sigh. "Gracious, Mrs. Know-it-all, do try and cut me some slack. I was up quite late last night."

"I know, Mr. Know-it-all. I was there."

"I _tried_to go to bed at a decent hour, I swear. You're just too-"

Logan cleared his throat, and looked down at the ground, trying to hide both his own embarrassment and his amusement. Something inside it felt so completely content and alright with what had happened. "Behave yourselves," he said, laughter poorly hidden in his voice.

"Hush, you," Sparrow hissed jokingly, breaking free of Jasper's grasp. She turned around and grabbed the boy's wrist, and yanked him down on to the bed next to her. Jasper gasp when he landed on him, and laughed breathlessly, making room for him to lie in between them. Sparrow kissed Logan's forehead and ruffled his hair. "Happy birthday."

"Yes, I suppose," he mused aloud.

Jasper smiled. "Oh, happy day!"

After a bit more of lounging around in bed, Logan went downstairs to take the pie out and left Sparrow and Jasper to put on some clothes. He served up his birthday pie with some fresh berries and syrup, with expert styling, just as he'd seen Reaver's cook do many times before. He'd always loved hanging around in the kitchen, enjoying the smells, watching the chef at work. The chef didn't mind, either. Logan had a passion for food – if not for cooking it, then for eating it. He'd always wanted to be able to cook for Reaver – to provide for him the way he provided for him.

The thought of his guardian brought the tears back to his eyes. He'd managed to keep them at bay since the morning he'd arrived and Jasper had helped wiped them away. Thus far, the butler had kept him busy to keep his mind off of it. He'd even told him stories every night until he fell asleep so that he'd have no time to toss and turn in thought. Jasper certainly seemed to be a expert on the subject; of heart break, and how to cope with it, whereas Logan had none.

They'd still never mentioned anything to Sparrow about it, and Logan couldn't exactly go back to live with Reaver after what had happened, so he couldn't help but worry. Jasper, too, couldn't help but worry about the boy. Perhaps he could live here. Push come to shove, he could send him his wages to pay for food and things. God forbid Reaver mention it to Sparrow himself. Jasper knew, though, he would be to proud to admit his fault. If they were lucky, Sparrow would finally want Logan to come live with her, at the castle. After all; he was her heir.

"This looks delicious," Sparrow said, taking her seat at the table. She wore Jasper's shirt, since it was loose enough to hang off her shoulder in just the right way so as to let her wound breathe. "You know who else is a surprisingly good cook? Reaver. Oh, he can prepare the most satisfying rabbit stew. I ate it a lot, actually, when I was carrying you. He also makes this really good balverine -"

"Well, he never taught me. Jasper did," Logan interrupted, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He did not look at them, and instead busied himself with cleaning up the ingredients and things. Jasper winced and hoped Sparrow would not notice Logan's discontent. Logan tried to remedy this quickly. "But I have tasted that stew before. Is that why I enjoyed it so much?"

Sparrow smiled. "Perhaps. Maybe it's just exceptional on its own." Her smile grew, and Jasper did not think they would like what came next. "Know what else he was good at?" All she got were two blank stares, one from a horrified Logan. "Oh, yeah. And, shamefully, Logan, all that time I was living with him, when I was carrying. And I'm sorry, love, but I'm not sorry." Logan and Jasper both forced a laughed.

_And maybe that's why I love _that _ so much, _Logan thought to himself, and Jasper could see the unspoken words in the boy's eyes. He wished he could have showed the boy a bit of sympathy, but that thought only made him laugh a genuine laugh.

"Please tell me we're not going to start swapping sex stories," Jasper said jokingly. "I'm afraid Logan and even myself may be sorely lacking in that category." This was a lie. The part about Logan not having any, at least, for he had many. Jasper, however didn't.

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression you two weren't such _girls_."

Logan finally took his seat and the three began eating. Sparrow was certainly in a good mood, after the night before, still feeling the ghost of the memory on her skin, simply enjoying the thought that she'd _laid with Jasper_. Jasper wished he could be in such a rainy mood as Logan, but he could not be anything but ecstatic. Logan wished he could be in less of a rainy mood – he really did – but Reaver was on his mind now, and he couldn't stop thinking about him. Jasper felt bad, watching the birthday boy pick at his breakfast-birthday-pie, and yet he didn't. It was so strange.

As Sparrow began to share her tales of her recent battle, Logan managed to perk up a bit. His mother had a way with story telling. Something about the way he heard her differently when she told him stories made him feel so undeniable comfortable, especially when she read aloud to him. Jasper was good with words, and had a way of saying each one in just the right way, but Sparrow's voice alone, however much she stumbled on her words – which a lot, once she got excited – made him happy. When he asked her if there might be any particular reason for this, she replied, "Before you were born, and then for a while after, I liked to read aloud to you from the many books in Reaver's personal library. They were, sadly, all about him, and his adventures, but I liked them, and judging by your incessant kicking, I should think you liked them as well."

Apparently, Logan had never stood a chance.

* * *

They would have to leave that afternoon and travel to the castle for some sort of festivity Garth had sent word to them about. Judging by the lack of detail and begrudging wording, it most likely involved Reaver and his diabolical party planning. No doubt for Logan's birthday. Logan found it funny that no matter terms you may be on, Reaver will always be willing to use whatever as an excuse to throw an extravagant party, especially when the queen is expected to be in attendance.

He'd never understood Reaver's near obsession with Sparrow. But it wasn't so much as an obsession of her so much as it was an undying love for bothering her or entertaining her – whichever was best applied to the situation. Oh several occasions, he'd found him sitting in his study, thinking, and when he'd asked him what about, he'd replied with, "How to best annoy your mother." Sometimes he would find it funny or even cute, and he would laugh. Other times, he would think it sick. Why did she deserve so much of his attention when she obviously didn't want it? He _craved _it, and yet he couldn't have it.

Sometimes, he resented her for it. But of late, he simply blamed Reaver. He'd realized he'd blamed his mother for so many things over the years, when blame was best placed on his guardian, and now that he saw that, he could love his mother the way he was supposed to. And he could hate Reaver the way he thought he should. But he didn't want to hate him. He wanted to hate Sparrow, for abandoning him so many years ago, but something inside him still craved her love over all, and if that meant hating Reaver with all his heart, it couldn't be helped.

Jasper was packing up a few final things when Sparrow came up into the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed. At first, Jasper ignored her, and continued packing, but her sighs called him to the bed, so he sat down next to her, thinking themselves fully ready for the trip. But they weren't, he supposed, in respects to the fact that they had _slept together_, and that last night, in the heat of the moment, when she cried out that she _love him_, he'd _asked her to marry him._ After the initial shock and ecstasy had worn of, they'd begun to think about their actions, the things they'd said and even the things that they had not said.

After a while of sitting next to each other in complete and utter silence as Jasper wrung his hands absentmindedly, he looked down at his feet, then closed his eyes and sighed. "You said you loved me," he said softly.

"And you asked me to marry you," she half spoke, half sighed, staring down at her own hands. "Now that we've gotten the obvious out in the open, may I just say that was -"

"Fantastic?" he interjected. "You may. But what you say after that may pose a problem. We don't have to make it complicated. We said some things that are sort of embarrassing. In bed. That's it. It doesn't have to be anymore."

"Yes. As we _made love_," she grumbled.

"'Made love?'"

"Would you prefer I just called it sex? If that was all it was -"

"No, no. By all means, we 'made love'." He smiled. She smiled.

Sparrow closed her eyes and fell back onto the bed. "But that only makes it worse," she said softly.

Jasper followed suit, and stared up at the ceiling. "And why is that?"

"Because then it can't be a one time thing."

"Can't it?"

"No. It was far too amazing."

He took her hand in his, loving how she relaxed into him with such ease almost instantaneously. "And is that such a bad thing?" After an eternity of silence, he began, "Sparrow, about your scars -"

She squirmed slightly at the mention of them, but her grip on his hand only tightened. His use of her name, simple and plain, no prestigious title, felt good. Jasper himself felt strange to say it, but he too thought it felt nice."I thought we'd already talked about them. A long while ago. I told you-"

"I never thought they were that bad."

Sparrow sighed and turned on to her side, facing away from him. "You thought I was kidding? Exaggerating, perhaps? You think he cared for one second -" She had to stop herself and take a deep breath. "You think Logan was the only one? He's the only one who got out _alive_." Her voice shook slightly. "I'm surprised I did too, honestly. I've only ever slept with three men since. Garth, then Reaver and... now you." She managed a laugh.

Hating to hear her sound so _broken_, Jasper turned on his side and wrapped his arms around her waist, molding his body to fit the outline of her perfection. He kissed her neck. They laid there for a moment. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

Within mere seconds, she was on her back again, with Jasper hovering over top of her, their lips locked in a furious game to established dominance. He didn't stay for long, though, and left a trail of kisses down he sturdy frame, opening up her shirt and pulling down her shorts. By the time he got a hold of her hips, she tensed up involuntarily, throwing her back and closing her eyes tightly. He ventured further and further down, edging the hem of her shorts along all the while.

Her hands grabbed at the sheets as his lips reached her inner thigh. The skin in that area was particularly sensitive, and horribly scarred. The who of her womanhood was in less that fair condition. It did not match the rest of her beautiful, pale skin. It was almost as though every pain she'd ever felt – every misfortune both physical and emotional she'd had to endure – had accumulated there, in her most sacred area, where no one could see. But he could see it all, at that moment, and he felt no disgust or sadness, but complete peace and happiness to be able to know the true Sparrow, as most people never would; to know her imperfections as well as the rest of her better than ever before.

It didn't take too long for him to bring Sparrow to the brink. She moaned his named sweetly and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, driving him near insane with desire. But he could do nothing more than continue to pleasure her, especially when she held his head in place the way she did. He did not mind. At the moment, she was all that existed, and pleasing her was all that mattered in life, and it probably pleased him just as much as it pleased her.

For a while, she stuttered helplessly, managing to form nothing more than a 'j' sound, her voice all the while rising in pitch in volume. He stroked her thighs as his tongue worked her with surprising skill until she could make no sense of anything anymore, and her stuttering of 'J-J-J-J-J-' stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Nothing but a high squeak escaped her lips for a moment of sheer bliss. Finally, she could say his name as she let out a deep breath she had been holding for at least a minute or so. She rode the wave as long as she could, until she felt his absence between her legs.

Soon, he was laying with her again, holding her stiff body in his arms, chuckling at her inability to move. She managed to relax, slowly, into him and laughed, too, breathlessly. "By the Light, Jasper," she breathed, still never opening her eyes, "are you trying to kill me?"

"It's not you I'd be worried about; it's Garth," he said jokingly, though the realization hit him with the force of a thousand bricks. He'd just unwittingly began his affair with the married queen of Albion, and honestly he couldn't stop himself from planning out ways they could enjoy each other in secret from then on.

Garth, right. Sparrow had forgotten he existed.

"I... just remembered something," Jasper said softly, "other than the fact that we have to leave. Now."

"What?"

"I found something, while cleaning one day." He shifted slightly so he reach into his pocket, and he pulled something out and handed it to her. "It was under a loose floor board, with some scrolls I didn't really understand, I thought to myself, 'Who else could this possibly belong to but Sparrow?'"

What he handed her was a tarnished, gold chain – a necklace. The chain held in place a small but heavy ball. Though not gold like the chain, it was a silver, though with the same tarnish as the chain. On the ball was a small, flat, golden sparrow, wings spread for flight, attached to the ball at the body, just as weathered as the rest of the piece. Despite the corrosion of the materials, hints of the shining underbelly of the tarnish poked through the top layer. "Perhaps, if it was cleaned, it might be truly stunning."

Sparrow was at a loss for words. She laid there, staring at it through wide eyes. "Jasper, I... I can't believe you found this," she said. "I thought I'd lost it many, _many_ years ago but -" She admired it fondly, cradling it in her hands as though it were her child. "Will you help me -?"

"Of course."

"Jasper?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

He smiled. "Marry me."


	15. Things Changed & Things Left Untouched

**Act II Part III**

**Things Changed & Things Left Untouched**

* * *

As Jasper helped Sparrow and then Logan out of the carriage, Garth could see they were all laughing heartily at something Jasper seemed to have said. He frowned, feeling a sort of deep sadness at how genuinely his wife smiled at the butler and how she threw back her head when she laughed, and then touched his arm. She leaned over, too, and kissed Logan's hair and wrapped an arm around the lean boy's shoulders. She lead him over to Garth, who stood, unmoved, watching them in discontent, in the courtyard. He narrowed his eyes as they approached.

Sparrow ran the last couple of yards and threw her arms around him in a improper way of which he didn't much approve, but he hugged her back, having missed his wife on her leave. Admittedly, had felt sad when he heard the news of her being shot, but almost sort of relieved. Perhaps her days away had helped her sow her wild oats, and she would come home to him and be good and loving. But the way she paraded around with a bastard and butler on each arm made him question his original hypothesis. He was already quite tired after his day in court and her flamboyancy and blatent cheeriness wasn't at all helping his dampened mood.

It'd been weeks since he'd last laid with a women, so he felt frustrated in many different ways. He'd almost done it – he'd gotten a servant girl all the way to his chambers, half naked and in bed with him, but he couldn't get it up. A most embarrassing blunder. That was what he got for making an attempt at being unfaithful. It wasn't fair – he knew that Sparrow had slept with Reaver before, if only that one time, so why didn't he get a chance, too? She just wasn't Sparrow, he'd supposed. And here she was, a cheeky little cheery monkey, acting like a schoolboy who'd just laid with prettiest girl in town. So very unfair, he thought.

Honestly, he'd never cared that she'd slept with someone else. He knew he deserved it. When he'd left her, Reaver had been there for her, and he knew she would always have feelings for the man. But Garth also knew that she loved him, and he always loved her. He couldn't love anyone else, no matter how hard he tried – and oh!- how he'd tried. But it didn't matter who she was with at any given moment, because he knew she would always come back to him, in the end, and he would always come back to her.

For a moment, with the way Sparrow looked at Jasper, and certainly with the way he looked back at her like the goddess she most certainly was, his mind wandered to the possibility that perhaps... But no, such a foolish thought, although inevitable. He'd always thought Jasper had been in love with her, but the mere thought she could love him too was simply absurd. He was so slight and dispassionate that he could never hold any interest of hers.

Soon, the four of them parted ways, and Sparrow and Garth went up to their bedroom and finally, they kissed each other. Or, he kissed her, perhaps, if that was the word. No, perhaps the word was ravished, or attacked. Sparrow fought his hands off, though laughing and whispering sweet nothings. "Don't we have a party to get ready for?" she asked.

Garth snorted and rolled his eyes. "You don't actually want to go, do you?" he asked in near disgust. The idea of attending one of Reaver's stupid parties almost made him sick.

"Well, it is my son's birthday, and my friend is throwing him a party, so I think it would make me both a bad mother and a poor friend not to go." She unbuttoned her shirt and discarded absentmindedly, and began rummaging through her extensive wardrobe, looking for something suitable for a queen such as herself to attend a ball in.

"Right, because you weren't already a bad mother, after you said you could never love such a child. And it didn't make you a poor friend to burden him with your bastard. Not at all." Sparrow groaned, already tired of this argument after having had it a million times already. "Sure you're not doing all of this out of guilt? You said you hated parties."

"Yes, and that's why Reaver and I have party-planning parties," she half-laughed, obviously offended. "If you don't want to go, that's fine."

"It's best we stay in, and -"

"I'll just ask Jasper to accompany me. I'm feeling rather scandalous tonight."

She gave Garth a satisfied smirk. He glared back, rubbing his tongue against the inside of his cheek so as not to snap at her. "Fine, if that's what you want, _your highness_."

* * *

They arrived at ten to find Reaver's mansion quite nearly shaking. Sparrow, Logan and Jasper stepped out at the gate, and the guard who stood watch over it quickly let them him, without hesitation. Sparrow was, after all, looking quite elegantly slutty in a way only she could possibly pull off with such ease. Her dress was a deep blue with a deep V cut down her chest, with skirts and fabulous ruffles to boot. A purple silk bodice hugged her curves, and her red, feathery, high-arched coattail was more than enough to draw attention. Jasper and Logan were very modestly clothed in comparison, with simple, pastel suits.

Logan felt very uncomfortable upon entering his home. Something felt very different, and very wrong. All of the memories he had of the place seemed to have soured since his departure. The lively music the orchestra played seemed to wither and die in the stale air beyond the ballroom. He stood in the very dead room and looked around, trying to summon the courage to face his guardian again, but he found nothing. Jasper put a hand on his shoulder and lead him on.

As the doors opened, they seemed to have entered a whole other world; with bright light, and beautiful music and laughter and happiness. Logan felt at home again, a bit more at ease. This was what he remembered best and most fondly. Parties, with men and women dancing and talking and laughing and eating and living. For so long, now, Logan felt as though he was not living, the colour drained from his once happy world. Now, the life and its light embraced him and welcome him home again.

Jasper asked Sparrow to dance, and she graciously accepted, leaving Logan to his own device. He wandered off to a table loaded with deserts. He eyed them all in childish wonder, unsure of what to taste first. He brought a cream-filled pastry to lips, and bit into it slowly. It better than Jasper's cooking, that was for sure.

"You know, Logan, my dear boy, I wasn't sure you would show, but I had an inkling. Whatever the case, these people would have been pleased should the guest of honour showed his face or not. I thought I should give it a try, anyway." Reaver's usual silver tongue called to him seductively, but he did not feel the same excitement he had felt before whenever the man said his name. It'd lost its special gleam.

Logan sighed, mouth still full. He honestly didn't know what to say, because he was a little angry and a lot hungry, and he just wanted to enjoy his birthday pastries. But of course, one of Reaver's parties simply wouldn't be complete without Reaver himself. It only seemed fit he should see the man at some point of the evening, he'd just not expected it to be so soon. He wanted a little more time to prepare himself, at least. So, he replied the only way he knew how; with the words Sparrow had used to say goodbye to her husband earlier that evening as she left in a huff. He deadpanned, "Evening, love."

The boy refused to so much as look at his guardian, and continued to stuff his face. Sweets were at least something he could be happy about. Keeping his mouthful, and having such good manners, kept him from shouting and screaming at the much older man, and he certainly didn't want to cause a scene. Finally, after a great deal of silence, Reaver's smile faded. "What does she know?"

"Nothing," Logan assured him. "I only told her I was staying with Jasper because I wanted a chance to see her first. She seemed fine with that answer."

"So that's where you went," he mumbled. "Naughty boy." Logan scoffed. "And Jasper."

"No details, but he's smarter than he looks." That was a lie. Jasper was no smarter than he looked; he actually looked quite intelligent, but that was beside the point. Logan smirked. "I finally found a father."

Reaver rolled his eyes, took a breath and looked down at him in disinterest, though hurt showed in his eyes. "You seem relatively calm in comparison to the time we last saw each other. You're not screaming or breaking any of my mirrors... yet."

"Dese ah gooh," Logan attempted with a mouthful of cake. Reaver looked down at the ground but he couldn't help but smile. The boy was almost a man now, but he was still so completely adorable. It was practically torture. Logan swallowed, and finally looked up at him. "I do not have anything to saw to you, Reaver, so I think you should move along now."

"My boy, I'm sure you've plenty to saw. Scream it, if you like."

Keeping about him his calm manner, Logan spoke, "You are cruel, Reaver. You do not love, and you feel no remorse. What am I supposed to do now? Where do I live? What do I tell my mother who's only now started to love me and who loves you very much that I can't be around you anymore because the mere thought of you makes me sick? Do you wish to see me cry again? Because I refuse. I will not let you treat me like one of your whores!" The last bit came out a bit louder than expected, but hardly anyone seemed to take notice.

"Oh Logan," he said melodically, unfazed, "when will you grow up? You think you know what love is? You're no more than a child." Looking over Logan's shoulder, he spotted a flushed Sparrow and Jasper making their way over to them. "We will speak later."

"Oh, yes, that's very mature of you, _father_," Logan spat, only just realizing Sparrow was standing behind him. "Hello, mother," he chirped.

"We were only just discussing Jasper, and how kind of him it was to look after Logan," Reaver explained, without skipping a beat. He managed to ignore Jasper's glares and waves of hate eminating from the butler. "He simply refused to sit around and wait to see you. Said he was like a father."

Sparrow smiled and stroked her son's hair affectionately. "Well, isn't that sweet?"

"Very," Jasper muttered in agreement. He looked at Logan, who was looking to him for guidance, quietly sucking his lower lip, near tears. To his side, Sparrow was downing glass after glass of wine. He couldn't help but follow suit. He felt very out of place and he was too sober to deal with Reaver.

"Madam," Reaver bowed to Sparrow, "might I have this dance?" Sparrow's cheeks reddened, and she nodded quietly. She wasn't sober enough to deal with Reaver. He led her out on to the dance floor, and she stumbled for a bit, but then they managed to settle into a simple waltz. Sparrow was without hope when it came to dancing, even with Reaver to guide her, and he knew that. But he didn't mind. He honestly thought it was cute.

Despite his efforts to lead her, she move very stiffly, with few turns and with very square, military steps. He tried to bring her in closer, but she kept her head at a ninety-degree angle in relation to her body and was staring at her feet. Reaver chuckled, and stopped. "Get on, then," he mumbled. She slipped out of her fancy shoes with the very high heels, and was suddenly much shorter than he, and she looked up at him with big brown eyes, then down at the ground, where she put her feet on his, and tried to keep herself from falling. She held his shoulder tightly with one hand, and squeezed his hand with the other. And then, he took off, twirling elegantly all around the room, carrying her on the toes of his shoes, though nobody noticed. They just stood in awe of of their movement, perfectly in time to the music.

Nothing had ever changed between them. Sparrow found that, somehow, no matter the circumstance, Reaver and their relationship was always the most consistent part of her life, and the irony was not lost on her. But whatever happened, whatever changed, they would always come back to those little, unchanging things that made them _them_. The way they danced, the way he could carry her weight and would do so without hesitation, the silent conversations they had with their eyes, and the way they loved each other. And they did love each other so completely, and they would always be in love with each other, just as they always had been. And however much that pained her, Sparrow could always take comfort in that fact.

Reaver closed his eyes and hummed tunelessly. "I must say, I absolutely adore your necklace. It suits you well."

"I'm certain." She smiled. "You know, for the longest time, I thought I'd lost it. But it turns out, dear husband of mine had hidden it under the floor." Sparrow watched him quietly to see how he might react. He only snorted.

"Of course he did. Tell me; where exactly is Garth this evening?"

"Sulking."

"So, Jasper -"

"He's nice."

"Apparently."

"Logan likes him, too."

"Maybe you should marry him."

"Maybe I should."

"Or me."

"Either or."

"Slut."

"Whore."

"Tramp."

"Bitch."

He smiled. "I could kiss you."

Sparrow rested her head on his shoulder, and took a deep breath. He smelled sweet, just as she remembered him. And he was warm, and soft. "Don't ruin it."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The song ended and Jasper came to find her and dragged her off to find something to drink. They weren't running at full capacity any more. They certainly had lost their usual elegance. And when Sparrow got drunk – well... She was still mourning the absence of Reaver, and floating in what had been his presence. He was in her, now, and she couldn't shake him. She needed to get out. "Jasper, come on."

She led him out of the room and down the hallway, until she found the study. She itched in anticipation as she jiggled open the door and slipped inside, pulling Jasper in behind her. They closed the door, and Sparrow threw herself down longways on the loveseat. Jasper leaned back against the wooden desk and looked at her, waiting for something to happen. Finally, Sparrow grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest. "He's just so..!"

"Arrogant?"

"No..."

"Awful?"

"No."

"Morally challenged?"

"No! There! He's just so there, and here, and everywhere, and _present_. Like he owns the place!"

"Might I point out, madam, that he does, in fact, own the place?"

"_NO!_ He doesn't own everyplace, but it's like he does, because he's everywhere all of the time and I can't get away!"

"I can't quite say I understand." But he almost did. He just didn't like what it was adding up to, because everyone knows that Sparrow plus Reaver adds up to a piping hot plate full of eternal love, and Jasper minus Sparrow equals sadness.

"He needs to own everything. I wouldn't be surprised if he ever tried to seduce Logan as though to make him a substitute for me. I wouldn't put anything past him, because he low, and petty, and _I hate him._" Jasper choked back some anxiety at Sparrow's seemingly random example. "But he _can't_ have me. I won't let him. Because, then, he'd truly have everything, wouldn't he? So you have to take me, Jasper, and keep me locked up somewhere he can never find me."

"Is that why you stayed with Garth all of these years? So that he couldn't have you?"

"I don't... _think_ so..."

"Well, it certainly can't be the man's personality you find appealing... I think even a man such a Reaver could beat him out in that category."

"See, I've stayed with him for so long... that I've started trying to remember why I do. And I feel like it will come back to me someday, so I can't leave. It's like, I leave, and the next day I'll remember, and I'll realize I've made a terrible mistake."

"Listening to your heart is not a terrible mistake."

"But I _do_ love Garth."

"Then why did you sleep with Reaver? Why did you sleep with me?"

"Because I love you too..."

"And Reaver, as well?"

"I think I've always been in love with him."

"Then why aren't you with him?"

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BE WITH REAVER!" She was crying now.

"Why not?!"

"A-as much as I've always love him, I've never wanted to be with him. I can't be with him. I can't forgive him. He left me."

"So did Garth. And then Reaver came back, long before he did. I still don't see the problem."

"He was my friend. Garth was a lover, and those come and go. But I trusted him, and he broke that trust."

"But he _came back_. In what insane rendition of the story is he worse than Garth?"

"After Logan, I always had trouble, alright? With having children. Rose was miracle. But... there were others. Conceptions. I've had so many miscarriages, I've honestly lost count. The roses that I plant in the garden... those... are them. Figuratively, of course." It took a while for this to sink in. Jasper didn't quite know what to think. "It's not just because he's old, I... I suppose you know what I mean. You've seen it. And I didn't really know anything was wrong until a few years after Logan, when Garth finally came home, but before that... I just had all of these silly little dreams and fantasies. You'll think it's ridiculous."

"I will not."

"I used to think, back when Reaver was looking after me, that, well, we loved each other, and that we should be together. And we did live together, in Bloodstone, the lawless town it was, but we were its king and queen, and it was glorious. I had tied Reaver down with my pregnant ways. He didn't want to leave me the way I was, I guess; poor, without a soul to care for me, and he didn't. He stayed with me the whole time and I loved him so much for it. And Logan was born, and I was sick for a while, but he took care of us.

"And then, in some sick, disillusioned way, we became a family. And very soon after, and you'll never get over this, I was with child once more. His, actually, which is silly, really. Could you imagine, Reaver, with a daughter? Teaching her to walk, and reading her bedtime stories, tucking her in, keeping away the monsters, giving her away... We could. For a while. But something went wrong. I think she was birthed too soon, but... I don't... She wasn't... right. In so many ways. She was less than a day old when she just... stopped breathing... and... He just took Logan and left, as though something had been said that I'd just never heard and I was alone again."

Jasper wiped the tears from his eyes and stared at his feet. "I can't..." he said, because he couldn't. He couldn't begin to imagine how she had suffered, and he didn't really want to. "I would never -"

"You may say that now, but you might very well have done the same. You know, he lost a daughter once before. When Oakvale burned, he told me. She burned alive because of him. And so have I."

Something strange happened that brought Sparrow from the couch over to the desk, and her lips to his, and his shirt to the floor, and it all happened so very fast and it was so unexpected that neither of them really knew how they'd gotten there once they were there. He held her against the wood of the desk, their bodies pressed tightly together and their lips playing a most magnificent melody. His hands pushed up her skirts and inched up her thigh, too hungry to stop now. A voice inside of him told him to stop this nonsense and comfort the poor woman, but her hands were already down the front of his trousers, and gripped him tightly – but not too tightly. The way she touched was so perfect hthat he couldn't deny her.

Sparrow wrapped her legs around his waist, smiling as Jasper moaned softly against her mouth, and adjusted her position ever-so-slightly. Her hand wandered up, stroked his stomach for a brief moment, and pushed the hem of his trousers down just enough to grant him access to her. Jasper's lips left her mouth and met the sensitive skin of her slender neck, restraining himself so as to tease her. She, however, used her legs to pull him in against her. He smiled against her skin at her impatience, grabbed her waist with both hands, and thrust into her. She moaned and bite her lip. She held onto his bare back and buried her face in his shoulder to smother her small noises.

The meer thrill of having sex – not only with her butler in an almost public place, but – on Reaver's desk was almost too much. She was breathless. All she could do was hold on to him as tightly as possible and try to remember to move with him, but her mind was completely blank.

"J-Jasper."

"Oh. Oh my."

That wasn't Jasper. And she didn't think it was her, either.

It took them a while to realize it was Reaver, standing at the door, with Logan, watching them, both amused and slightly aroused by the the scene playing out before him. "This is certainly an interesting development," he said. Unsure of what to do in such a situation, this first thought was that they should probably stop, so they did. Sparrow quickly flattened her skirts and Jasper attempted to cover himself in a right panic as though he were an exposed, virgin milkmaid. He certainly looked like one. "Would you mind telling me what exactly you are doing?"

"Umm..." Sparrow searched for the perfect cover-up story. "Having sexual intercourse on your desk?"

"Indeed."

"I would like to be the one who points out that she started it," Jasper said, pointing at Sparrow. "I was only just standing here, looking dashing, when she -"

"Really?" Sparrow demanded. "Might I point out, sir, _you_ were the one who had me pinned up against the desk."

"Know that I say this with deepest sorrows," Reaver interjected quickly, "but I'm afraid that you, my queen, would top in this scenario." He looked at Logan. "She's quite the dominatrix, you know." He turned back to the queen and growled seductively. She came back with a seductive meow, clawing at the air as she did so. "There's my little minx."

"Mooooooooom."

"Logan, sweety, mommy is a little... _excited _right now because you and uncle Reaver interrupted me taking care of that. So deal with it."

"How long has this been going on?" Reaver asked.

"Well, this is the – what? – sixth time? Today and yesterday," Sparrow decided.

If Reaver had been drinking the whiskey he held in his hand, he probably would have done a spit take. She was being decidedly frank with him, which both pleased him and worried him. He thought he might try to subtly inquire as to why that was. "Might I inquire as to why you're being so decidedly frank, my dear?"

"I have nothing left to hide Reaver, you've just caught us in the act, and I'm not going to use all of my energy on trying to lie about it to you when I can be thinking about how to get myself out of this mess and to not have you tell my husband. Say, should I kill him, Logan, would you tell anyone?" The boy shook his head. "I don't suppose the Shadow Court would come after me, would they? Would they rape and pillage Bowerstone or something of the sort?"

"Not sure," he replied as casually as he could possibly could while having his life threatened, which was surprisingly casual, actually. "I've never been killed before..."

"We're not going to kill him," Jasper said.

"Thank-you, Jasper."

"And he's not going to speak of this to anyone."

"Hmm... Not so sure about that one."

"Reaver -!"

"A word?"

Jasper marched over and pulled the marksman aside, motioning for him to come in closer so that they could whisper without the other two hearing them. "Reaver, you've not only raped a young boy, but you raped my _favourite _young boy. Now, we're in a bit of a pickle here, so you're going to keep this little secret of ours. However, if you don't ask for something in return, Sparrow _will be _suspicious, and we don't want that, now do we? So you are going to negotiate with her, and you are going to demand Logan goes to live with her at the castle because you're a youthful bachelor who wants to have fun, and he gets in the way of your 'sexy parties. Are we clear?"

They broke the huddle and Reaver cleared his throat. He looked to Logan, who gazed at him forlornly, to Jasper, who urged him on with his piercing eyes, and finally to Sparrow, who looked as though she might actually be close to tears. "Jasper has convinced me it is in my best interest, as a friend, not to tell anyone. _But_, I do have demands. Or, demand, singular."

Sparrow let out the breath she'd been holding for so long and her stiff body relaxed slowly. She looked at Jasper and smiled. Despite her relatively cool exterior, she'd been feeling horribly queasy, and she was proud of Jasper, this was certain. She'd never been a good negotiator. She was lucky to have him. "And that would be..?"

"I'm a youthful bachelor, Sparrow, who wants to have fun! Logan only gets in the way of my 'sexy parties! I'm tied down here, and I don't much like that. I want you to take him to live in the castle with you."

"You've never had a problem with him before."

"He's a rambunctious young man now. I can't be expected to keep track of him. He's always getting into trouble, and interrupting my _me _time."

"A-alright..."

Logan was staring at him blankly. He couldn't tell if what Reaver said held any truth or not. The man was a good liar. It certainly held _some_, but not much, he knew. He felt hurt; betrayed. Reaver was the one at fault here, not him, and now Sparrow was being told a whole other story of which he didn't approve. If that story was a fabrication of Jasper's, he was unsure. He silently willed it to be. Even if he hated Reaver, he still cared about what the man thought about him, though more specifically about how truthful it was. But now, he was going to be able to _finally_ live with his mother, and he couldn't happier.

"I hate to push my luck, here, boys, but can we finish this discussion in a while?" Sparrow asked somewhat shyly. She and Jasper looked at each other.

He smiled.

She smiled.

Their cheeks flushed a deep red.

Logan and Reaver left them to their own devices.


	16. Something Of A Spark

**Act II Part IV**  
**[Chapter 16]**

* * *

"What do you think of this, Jasper?"

The afternoon after the party, Sparrow was trying to find her nicest and most appealing nightgown and underclothes to try to win Garth over on the idea of Logan coming to live with them. She'd decided that he would, whether Garth approved or not, but she didn't like it when he was angry with her, as much as she loved to ruffle his feathers, she hated the lasting effect. She figured some good, old fashioned letting-him-flop-around-on-top-of-her ought to fix that in a jiffy. Jasper wasn't bothered, since how she put it made him smile, but _this _was torture.

Helping her in and out of outfits, getting to touch her, but not in the way he wanted to, and seeing her like this, in her most appealing, most revealing bedclothes. He thought he might explode, and she was doing it on purpose, even though she'd found what she was looking for half an hour ago, she urged them on, and modelled for her butler, eased into his every touch, bounce around and moaned – not groaned – in frustration. Sparrow was going to hell for this.

"Fit for the making of babies, madam, if it is not too inappropriate of me to say so."

"It is. I don't mind." She smiled. He smiled.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but I think I'd feel much more at ease if you covered up." Sparrow bounced over to him nonchalantly, and proceeded to unbutton his blue coat, very, very slowly. She leaned back so that she could see him, but also so her hipbone pressed into his side, causing his entire body to flush a deep red. "What are... What are you doing?"

"Covering up," she mumbled softly. She took his coat and threw it around her shoulders. "And now, the outfit is complete."

"I hope you realize that you cannot, in fact, wear my coat while trying to seduce your husband."

"Oh, Jasper, don't be silly." He raised an eyebrow but went about fixing the collar for her. "I know, but I don't _want _to seduce my husband. I _want _ to seduce _you_," she mumbled, watching his long, thin fingers working the fabric of the coat gracefully. He could do anything gracefully. He could take a rather large shit, she thought, and do it gracefully. She giggled.

"What are you on about now?"

"Nothing." She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder. "You know what makes me sad, Jasper? We could never get married. I mean, even if I ever left him. You're my butler."

"Well, did you hear about that orphan who became queen of Albion. Quite the stir. She's not even that nice. Beautiful beyond compare, but still." Despite his effort to make her laugh, she was crying into his shoulder quite suddenly. Softly, but crying all the same. And he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"No, it's just..." It took her a moment to compose herself. "I don't love him anymore, Jasper. At least, I don't think I do. Even if I did, I don't want to. I want to love you. I _do _love you, but I can't belong to you and I _want_ to belong to you. Just you. Whether you'll have me or not. But I can't - I don't..."

"Don't be ridiculous! Any part of you – however small – is more than enough for me."

She looked at him trough teary eyes. "It isn't enough for me." They stood there for a while, as she tried to control her emotions, and he held her loosely enough that should anyone walk in, it may not seem as inappropriate. But nobody walked in.

"You musn't be so hard on yourself. I know it wouldn't be so easy to just... leave him."

"He _is_ the king."

"You're the queen. He's your king, not the other way around. You shouldn't be afraid of him."

"I wish it were that simple, but it isn't. Jasper, will you lay with me tonight?"

"In the treasury?"

"On the gold."

"On the gold?"

"All over the gold."

He nodded in response, and it was all very businesslike, though he couldn't help but slap her behind as she walked back to her closet to put on some more appropriate attire.

* * *

That night, well after the entire kingdom had gone to bed, Sparrow – wearing nothing but Jasper's thin but warm blue coat – snuck through her bedroom doors, down one of her secret hallways that led to her study and slipped silently into the treasury. It was one of the most secure rooms in the castle, with thick walls that withheld noise from within but carried the sounds from beyond the walls well within the occupants' ears' reach. It could be fully sealed from both the outside and the inside, the latter of which Sparrow did before anything else.

She enjoyed the security of the place now, having found it only a little eerie before. Now that there were rebellions rising in the North, and smaller ones rising throughout all of Albion, she liked have a safe place she could go to if she had to. And she especially enjoyed how it could easily double as a secret meeting place for her and her lover, a purpose which it could serve to them now, as she approached him slowly.

With the faint glow of the gold in the dim lights on his bare skin, he was almost angelic. He stood, lips slightly parted, head tilted slightly to the right and hands held loosely at his side, watching her with hungry eyes, waiting for her to come to him. He watched as she undid a button with every agonizingly slow step she made toward him.

As her gentle fingers undid the final button, her – or, more accurately Jasper's – coat fell away, and she could no longer hold Jasper's hungry gaze. She was still a few steps away, but close enough for him to hear her heart thumping in her milky breast. Just as he, she bathed in the golden light, and she was truly a goddess. Not just in his eyes, he knew. But right now, she was his and his alone to behold in all of her unearthly beauty.

Her body's many scars and slight imperfection here and there, made her just human enough to love as well as worship. Her eyes called to him, but he remained just as still, waiting patiently for her to come to him. She looked as though she needed to take her time, especially considering she'd just come from her husband's bed, where they'd laid together.

Hidden behind the seduction in her eyes was a sort of sadness. Or perhaps it was guilt, he couldn't be sure. Whether it was about betraying Garth or the fact they could only be together in secret, as they'd discussed earlier, he couldn't be sure either. Sparrow liked to pretend she could put herself and her desires first, but she still had to punish herself for it.

For a moment, she took him in properly. He certainly wasn't unattractive. Though his wit and kindness had easily been the qualities of his to win her over, she could not deny her physical attraction to him. His frail frame was well filled out, and despite that frailness, he was strong, too. With his impossibly good posture, and how he kept his shoulders squared and his muscles tense and flexed in response to his anxiety, minus his frilly uniform, he was practically manly.

Finally, she took the last few steps necessary so that she could place both shaking hands on his shoulders. She forced herself to meet his gaze and smile. "You look... almost manly, Jasper. It's very arousing." Jasper closed his eyes and smiled, unmoving. "What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the moment while it lasts. I've never been called _manly_, and it will most likely be the last time." He opened his eyes and looked to her for confirmation. She nodded and her face lit up with suppressed laughter. "I'll take what I can get."

Jasper attempted to lower himself slowly onto the floor, but fell ungracefully on his ass. He made a sour face, and Sparrow laughed and got down in his lap, with one of his legs between hers. She sighed in contentment, closing her eyes, and kissed his cheek. Then his neck, and then his collarbone, and rested her forehead against his. "Good God, you're _hot_," she said softly. Her voice was breathy and her breathing heavy from having the warmth of his leg against her. Jasper rubbed his nose against hers and chuckled. He muttered something she could hardly make out over the sound of her own beating heart, something along the lines of, "This, coming from the goddess."

He held her waist in both hands, and brought her down on to himself, easing into her scarred womanhood, hearing her breath catch in her throat. His strong hands guided her as she moved against him. He laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, and she rested her head against his chest, her parted lips allowing her to taste his sweat.

It was like floating in a sea of ecstasy, for him to have her move against him, and for her to feel him moving inside of her. Jasper gripped her tightly, his biceps flexing and un-flexing with every movement. She grip his sweat-drenched back, her nails digging into his skin and leaving love marks on his chest with her teeth. He felt up her waist and to her breast, earning another moan of pleasure.

Sparrow could not remember such pleasurable times as those she had spent thus far with Jasper. It was not so well-coordinated, nor was it a graceful dance. But it was them, moving together, making sweet music and that was more than enough. It was utter happiness.

As they reached their climax, and fell sprawled out on to the treasury floor, their bodies entwined, they heard a scream. Alarmed, they retreated into the shadows of the corner of the room, clutching the other tightly and listening intently. It took mere moments for the initial shock to wear off, and for them to realize it had come from somewhere outside the fortified walls of their hideaway. It was a scream. Of pain.

Without hesitation, Sparrow grabbed Jasper coat from the floor and threw it over herself, quickly doing up a few buttons so as to cover herself just a bit. Jasper grabbed his trousers and shirt and somehow managed to dance into them in just as much time, and they ran out the door, both heading in opposite directions. Sparrow ran full speed toward Logan's room, and burst through the door. "Logan, are you alright?!"

He was curled up in the corner behind a bookcase, his bare chest covered by the blankets he'd pulled off the bed as he'd hid, trembling. "Mum, I-I'm fine," he croaked, "I think. Some... men came in here, but I hid and I don't think they found me. Who screamed?"

"SPARROW!"

"Jasper..." Logan whimpered and backed up further into into his hiding place and covered himself with his blankets. She could hear him crying softly, but she knew he would be alright. The guards were only now coming in; they could look after him.

She bolted down the hallway and into the royal bedroom, where she found Garth writhing on the bed and Jasper on the floor, clutching his bleeding side. Her first reaction damned her. "Jasper!" She ran to his side and knelt down next to him. "Jasper, what happened? Who did this?"

"I... don't know. I think they poisoned Garth and..." He winced, leaning into the floor, face contorted in pain. "I think I've been stabbed."

Tears were in her eyes. She held the hand that held his bleeding side, while her other hand held his face. Her forehead rested against his jaw. She tried to get a grip of the situation but her breathing would not calm. Her chest burned with worry. Garth was dying to their right, but she could not bare to leaving Jasper's side just then. She could not do anything that required much thinking. So much was happening that she could not decide what had to be done.

She realized she had to either hold her dying butler or try to comfort her dying husband. However much she wanted to the former, she forced herself up and over to the bed, where Garth's violent spasm had calmed just slightly. Garth tried to spit through the foam in him mouth. He reminded her of a rabid animal, only less appealing. "Whore."

"Garth -"

"You were with him." She sobbed. His body relaxed now. He could see her in all her glory, hidden behind the fabric of another man's coat, and he understood. He'd called her by her name, and she'd gone to him. She loved him. He felt a sort of peace in this, knowing it was all a lie. Knowing it was a lie made it all the more easy to leave it all behind; to let go. She still could not fully understand. "Burn in Hell, bitch." He spat in her face, and his head turned away from her. The life in his eyes were gone, but his pained expression was still there. He found no peace even in death.

Her stomach felt empty. She wanted to climb into the bed, curl up in his limp arms and die right then, but then she realized she felt nothing for the dead man she'd called her husband. After pretending for so long that he was the one that she loved, and that she couldn't live without him, she realized now how little of all that was true. And honestly, most of what she felt as she looked down at him was utter relief, however shallow reaction that was. But to her left, Jasper was slowly dying, and she knew that he truly was the one she couldn't live without.

Unable to fully process what had just happened, she collapsed on her knees next to Jasper, who was beginning to slip away. She resumed the previous position, sobbing into his cheek, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

God, there was so much blood._ Why was there so much blood?_

"Jasper..? Jasper, stay with me! Jasper, can you hear me?!"

"I... resign..." he mumbled, half-smiling.

Sparrow began sobbing _and _laughing uncontrollably. "Jasper, you have to hold on... I can't... I'll..."

"W-what?"

"I love you..."

"I... I know..." His breathing became irregular. His strength was fading quickly. Why wasn't there anyone there to help them? She tried called for help, but nothing came out. After a few moments of pained silence, he said, "I love you, Sparrow."

"Marry me, Jasper."

"Ha... ha... What?"

"If you live, Jasper Cuthbert... If you hold on for me, I will marry you."

"Ha... ha..."

"I'm serious, Jasper. Don't leave me."

"..."

"Jasper?"

"Deal." With that, he collapsed.

And so was the incident that sparked the civil war.


	17. A Secret Promise

**Act II Part V**  
**A Secret Promise**

* * *

It was clear to those near her and her people that Sparrow had not fallen prey to grief as she had in the past. No, grief was not to blame, but, in fact, genuine insanity. And nobody could begin to understand the glorious queen and her actions, let alone her disappearances that could last for weeks at a time, and nobody would see her. There was no explanation and nobody could begin to guess where she went or what she did, or put any sort of rhyme or reason behind it, nor was there any real desire or need to do so, when all of Albion was torn apart by the civil war.

When she was anywhere to be found, she was usually in the war room, with Walter Beck by her side, going over war tactics and strategy. Most of the rebels resided in the North, but radical groups could be found in every city. There was no reason behind this, either, other than the fact that some people though that she was mad. Some called her the _mad_ hero queen, now. Others said she was a weak leader after the incident with the bandits. For good reason, she followed most of Walter's advice, and did not go into battle herself.

The only person who had any sort of idea as to what was going on with her was Logan, and he was just as mysterious as she nowadays. Sometimes, he, too, disappeared. Those who remained loyal to the queen had their doubts, that was sure. Some worried that they may not return from whatever adventure grabbed them next. But Walter was sure to beat that out of them quickly. He was nearly the queen's regent, and certainly acted it. He was the closest thing the people had to call a leader when Sparrow disappeared, and he certainly wasn't a bad one. But when Sparrow _did_ show, she was confident, and just as strong as ever, though she was certainly less organized without the help of her butler.

But that was the thing; she wasn't grieving, or – arguably – all that insane. She mostly just seemed... sad. Distant, lonely. Not distraught and hopeless, just hopelessly loveless. She was empty, and just felt sick, like there was just something wrong – something that ate at her slowly and hollowed her out like a someone eating a kiwi with a spoon and she was the rough and weathered, sour skin of the delicious fruit, and loneliness was the spoon. And she refused to hire new help for herself.

Most mornings she sat alone in the castle gardens, watching over the city of Bowerstone, as though just waiting for the sun rise, wearing the same blue coat that could not be hers. And she just sat alone, until she was found and joined by Logan, and he would hold her hand and wait for the sunrise. But when the sun finally peeked over the skyline, they retreated into the walls of the castle, and would disappear for the rest of the day, leaving no traces, like ghosts. Mourning ghosts lost on the edge of oblivion.

On the off-chance they stayed in the castle all day, they were alone with the few guards made to look after them. All the help in the castle was gone. The guards stood stock still in the shadows, unmoving, making no sounds, like statues. The castle seemed empty, not that it made any difference to them. They probably preferred it that way. Sparrow could cook her son a few simple meals, and sometimes he would cook for her what few things Jasper had once showed him, before all of this, back when things were simpler, and it had just been the two of them.

They did not see or hear from Reaver. For all they knew, he'd dropped clean off the map entirely. Sparrow suspected he'd gone back to Bloodstone. She would have done the same had she had the idea before him. However many bad memories that place held for her, she sure as Hell preferred it to this place. Bloodstone was earthy, and real, while here she felt as though everything were nothing more than a dream; like she was floating through space, everything around her as intangible as human emotion.

She and Logan seldom spoke a word to each other. Instead, they would just sit and drink the other in all their glory. There wasn't really anything that could be said, anyway. They still needed each other. They kept each other sane. Just to have the other's company was enough to keep them conscious enough to be considered living. Without someone simply breathing next to them, they would simply have drifted off into oblivion. Some nights, Logan climbed into bed with her, and they would hold each other and cry.

Other nights were special.

Sparrow crept off, out into the gardens, and up to the bedroom in the high tower there, and she would sit in the chair by the fireplace wearing only Jasper's coat over her thin nightgown and sip red wine as she read one of the books Jasper had been slowly collecting with her help. There was a bookcase filled with old volumes; some with fantastic stories of love and triumph and others factual – if not slightly romanticized – historical recounts.

Her most recent choice was all about Scarlet Robe, and her son, the hero of heroes, and how he defeated Jack of Blades. It told the story of his rise to fame, how he conquered the arena, and especially of his compassion. She smiled as the thought crossed her mind that she was one of his distant descendants, that she now carried on his legacy, however poorly.

"It makes me wish I could remember my parents," she said thoughtfully, as she set the book down next to her. She gazed into the flames, and played with her wedding ring subconsciously. "I wonder if they were just as strong, or _magical_ and... I wonder if they were kind. I wonder which one was his descendant. I hope it was my mother. I love the idea of a strong woman."

Silence.

Not that she had expected more when talking to herself, it still brought tears to her eyes. "I... I try to be strong... Not just physically, but emotionally, and I... I can't... I can't remember how to be either. I don't know what happened to me, and my 'superhero strength'. I can't... remember what it's like to feel, or to feel loved and I just..." She sighed, her breathing shaky and her voice quiet and weak. "I just feel so... empty... without you. I just... I miss you.

"I know it doesn't mean anything for me to finally say it out loud, but I'm sorry, okay? I just... I'm sorry." Finally, she let out a soft sob, and her body shook, but that was it. "I just wish that you could answer me, and give me some sort of guidance. I need you to come back to me. I still love you... I can't live without you... I just... I just... I need you, Jasper."

More silence.

Her body shook violent as she sobbed. "I... I... I love you..."

After a while, she managed to control herself a bit better. She went back to watching the fire quietly, and then slowly reached into the inside pocket of the blood-stained, tattered blue coat and pulled out a small box. She'd gotten good at this part – she did not need to cry any more. She opened it, and looked at the contents, a sad smile on her face, and took it out carefully.

It was a beautiful, shining, gold wedding ring, engraved along the outside with two fluttering sparrows, chasing each other in an unending circle. She ran her fingers along them as always, feeling their detail with her calloused fingertips and letting the tears well up in her eyes again. Then, she read the inscription along the inside of the ring, and only smiled more.

_I smile, you smile._

However painful a comfort, it was a comfort all the same. She'd first discovered it only a day after the incident, hidden in the secret inside pocket. It was a very box, but hard not to notice when she slept on her side. She wondered why Jasper had parted ways with his stupid, frilly blue coat so easily that day, because it held one of his deepest secrets and perhaps his greatest dream. Of course she'd found this _after_. It was so unfair, she could not bear it.

And then, only a week after, she found his diary. The man kept a _diary_. He could not get any cuter, Sparrow hated to admit. He never wrote as though addressing the diary, like any normal girl, no. He had addressed every entry to _her, _the first entry having been writing a week after she'd first hired him. Each and every page was a letter, written to her, that he'd never intended her to see, and it hurt her, but she could only find herself falling even more in love with him with ever word.

Unfortunately, she had not been so smart, and quickly devoured the first many months in one night, but after she realized that they may be all she had left, these little pieces of him in his letters to her, she should have saved them all – reading one a day for as long as they went on, but it was too late. And now, she'd come to the last one. She did not want to read it, and let it be over. She flipped back toward the starting pages and read some of those;

_Sparrow,_

_You really do not know how not to be a pain. Honestly, it's Jasper this, and Jasper that, and I can't keep up with you while attempting to maintain the fantasy that you only order me around because you love me too much, and I only do right by you as your adoring husband.  
I only kid, my dear.  
But, really, you should really try to make yourself a damn sandwich for once. I know you know how. I'm a butler, not a cook. No, that's a lie. I'm just not _your_ cook. You'd think that, as a goddess, one could conjure up a simple sandwich, but no. Though, everyone is happy you have such a healthy appetite again, and when you ask me so nicely, I cannot refuse you anything. It's unfair._

_Patiently yours,  
Jasper_

_._

_._

_._

_Sparrow,_

_You seemed cheerful today. Something about the release of built up sexual frustration, I'm sure. It's certainly been very loud. Only you, though. We can't hear him.  
Some of us make bets in the kitchen by day. I'm sorry, but I won the pot, so I'm not too sorry. But I suppose I am sorry.  
You're certainly very talkative when you're cheerful, so I won't complain. You love telling me all about your strange dreams, and you always laugh when I take a guess at their meaning. I don't think that you can tell that I'm serious, so when you laugh, I laugh, too. You're, how they say, too cute. Yes, I think that's it.  
But you seem sad, in some ways. Sometimes, I ask you about it, and you tell me that you're fine, but I know you better than that, you royal pain, you. Don't tell me otherwise. I'm sure we'll figure it out, though, you and I._

_Faithfully yours,  
Jasper_

_._

_._

_._

_Sparrow,_

_You're still upset after the meeting with Mourningwood. I know you won't stay mad for long but... I wish you knew how sorry I am. I know you'll never read and you'll never know, but I hope that you will know the sorrow and regret I feel for hurting you, however shallow the cut, and however much you needed it.  
No, you did not deserve that. I wish I had spoken with you sooner that you've become a brat. You deserve better, madam, and I... I cannot provide you with that degree of better you so crave and I apologize for that. Know that, though you will wave it off come morning, I will never forget. I will remember for you and I will punish myself accordingly.  
You know, your smile is so incredibly stunning. No words I could put to paper could describe it. I wish I knew how to smile more so that would too. I know I can a grumpy old man, and I'm sorry. But know that, with every day, you make me all the more better for being you, bratty-ness and all._

_Yours always,  
Jasper_

_._

_._

_._

_Sparrow,_

_You've been gone no more than a day, and all hell has broken loose, I swear. Without you to keep me busy, I honestly do not know what to do with myself. So, I think of you, but I swear it only worsens things.  
I worry about you, though I may refuse to admit it. I like to imagine to slicing bandits to bits, but still, even the grandest of fantasies go wrong eventually.  
The funniest thing, actually, happened today, and you'd never believe this. But Logan came knocking at my door before dawn and woke me up. The boy is heartbroken – he misses you more than you know, but he actually likes me. I suppose I sort of like him, too. Don't tell him I said that.  
I'll try to look after him while you're gone, though I don't know really know how to look after a young boy; just senile old men and royal pains, I'm afraid. But I'll try.  
I really do miss you, you know. I miss your smile, and the way you get cross when I'm trying to be funny, and you laugh when I'm not. I'll try to smile while your gone, but no promises. Know that our thoughts are with you._

_Eternally yours,  
Jasper_

_._

_._

_._

_Sparrow,_

_You do not know how soundly I will sleep with you tucked under one arm. I wish I could join you as you sleep now – you seem so peaceful. But alas, I must first attempt to capture this moment on paper, so as never to forget it.  
You smell so sweetly of lavender like dirt, in a good way. The dirt is new, but I certainly don't mind it. It's earthy, like you. It reminds me of how human you truly are.  
Your breathing soft and your heart beats slowly but loud enough for me to hear it now. You are not restless, but you do talk in your sleep. From what I can tell, your dreams are sweet, and I am there with you.  
Unfortunately, I may have accidentally proposed to you mid-coitus, shortly after you told me you loved me, so I cannot wait to see how that will play out tomorrow. I write this in the most sarcastic of tones.  
You do not know how beautiful you are. Especially when you sleep, because sometimes you crack a smile and it is too adorable. I do not mean to demean you in any way with that, but it is the complete truth, and I apologize.  
You are saying my name, now, in your sleep and I'm smiling and now you're smiling and I'm still in complete awe of you. I run my thumb along your cheek, because you're crying and I'm not sure why, but I will wipe your tears for you.  
I think I will join you now._

_Yours,  
Jasper_

She ran her own thumb along her cheek to wipe away the dreaded, inevitable tears as she turned to the next page – the last page he'd written. She knew he must have written it before they met in the treasury that fateful night. It was all she had left of him, and did not want to use it so quickly but she so badly craved it – to read his words and to feel a new piece of him once more. And so, against all internal instincts, she read;

_Sparrow,_

_I did something incredibly stupid today, I'm not sure why, but I did it. I hope you will never find out, but please know that nobody can regret it more than me.  
Today, I took a few hours early in the morning after our late night at Reaver's, and... well, I went to see a jeweler I do not know what came over me, but I bought a ring, and took it to the blacksmith to have it engraved. Please, please forgive me. You will probably never get to see it, but, by the Light, Sparrow, it's beautiful.  
It's not as beautiful as you, but I'm proud of it all the same. Even though you will never come to know it, I will keep it, as a secret promise to you, and to myself.  
And, well, actually, now I'm realizing I left it in my coat pocket and you took my coat earlier and now I cannot breathe because you might find it. I cannot say I know what I would do if you found it. I'm picturing you, now, very, very angry with me, I know you can't stay mad at me for long... right?  
Well, shit, anyway._

_Yours and yours only,  
Jasper_

Sparrow let the diary fall from her hands as she leaned back in her chair, feeling her throat close so tight she could not begin to hope to find her breath. She felt the same tightness in her chest, and an emptiness in her stomach. She double over and attempted to wretch, but nothing came up; only a silent scream and a few heavy sobs. And she stayed like that, frozen, and screaming silently, eyes shut tight and arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Never had she felt so completely empty than then. Not when her sister had died. Not when the Commandant had done those horrible things to her in the spire. Not when her entire family had been torn out from under her. Not when Garth left her. Not when her and Reaver's daughter had died. Not when Reaver had taken Logan and left. Not when she'd quit Reaver. Not when Rose died. And certainly not when Garth died.

Maybe it was only now that everything had finally caught up to her and washed over her in a wave of grief. All she could do was just sit and scream and grieve. She needed Jasper to come back to her, and she needed to hear him and she needed him to comfort her and assure her that everything would be alright. But he could, so she figured she owed him as much.

After an eternity of screaming into the void, she rose to her feet and stumbled drunkenly over to the bed and climbed under the heavy sheets, still sobbing uncontrollably. She kicked her shoes off and out on to the floor and snuggled up to Jasper's cold – but still warmer than her – body, nuzzling her face into his neck and wrapping herself around his still body. She placed a hand over his heart and felt his slow, unsteady heartbeat. She listened to his breathing and watched his chest rise.

"Please, Jasper. Please wake up."


	18. The Night They Caught Fire

**Act II Part VI**  
**The Night They Caught Fire**

* * *

_Jasper sat up suddenly in bed, gasping for breath. He stared at the dying fire, his chest heaving as he tried to resume breathing as usual. Sparrow's slender finger slid up his arm, her hand coming to rest on his elbow, pulling him back down in bed next to her. He looked down at her, eyes wide, attempting to understand what had just happened. She stroked his arm soothingly, but did not open her eyes to look at him. She mumbled, in her half-asleep state, "Another bad dream?"_

_He closed his eyes and tried to settle back down next to her. "I suppose so." He made an attempt to embrace her, and bring her closer, but a space between them below remained. Jasper slid his hand under the covers and brought it to Sparrow's enlarged abdomen, and smiled. Brilliant. He felt the kick of the child growing inside of her – his child – and smiled. No matter how many times, it never ceased to amaze him._

_The baby grew excited. Sparrow could not possibly hope to sleep now, he knew, until it calmed down. He kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly again. Sparrow took his hand and held it against her, smiling beautifully. "She loves it when you talk," she said, finally looking at him through those gorgeous, tired, brown eyes of hers. "She likes it when I talk. But she loves to hear you."_

"_It's a she, now, is it?" Jasper asked._

"_I can feel it," she said. "Besides, wouldn't it be nice to have a daughter? For her to have her neurotic father to watch over her and pester her with worries about her well-being... having a big brother to look after her..."_

"_Chasing away boys..."_

"_She could marry Walter's nephew!"_

"_Yes, best to start planning the engagement. He can propose to her as she enters the world. Then we can begin planning the wedding itself. We'll never have to worry about the boys, that way."_

"_She liked that."_

"_The plan, or my voice?"_

"_The latter. Though, I'm sure once she has a chance to meet you, she'll learn to hate your nagging just as much I do. No offence."_

"_None taken, madam."_

* * *

Reaver sipped his tea quietly, staring straight ahead with a blank expression his face. The scene of Sparrow playing a game of chicken with herself, sticking her fingers in and out of the fire, letting the flames lick and burn her fair skin played out before him, unfocused. A thousand things hung in the air between them despite the hour, give or take, that he'd been there, they had yet to speak a single word. Sparrow refused to look at him.

Something was very different, but she couldn't decide what had caused the new-found distance between them; there were a few possibilities. Perhaps it was because he'd dropped off the face of the planet and they'd not spoken in several long weeks, or that he knew about her affair with Jasper, and/or he'd walked in on the two of them. Though, she found the most likely to be that he'd confessed his love for her and they hadn't spoken of it since.

Sparrow was growing tired of the silence. Still, without looking at him, she asked, "This is weird, isn't it?"

"Very." His field of vision focused, and he saw the pained look on her face. "But you'll have to forgive me, madam; my mind is on other matters tonight. More pressing matters."

She scoffed and turned her back to him so as to hide her the bitterness in her face, using the bright light of the flames to obscure his view of her. "'More pressing matters'? Well, I must apologize for wasting your precious time, Reaver. I'm sorry that I've come to bore you after all of these years."

He set his cup down on the end table next to him and shifted his weight slightly. "What do you want me to say, Sparrow? I'm only a man, for Avo's sake..."

She turned back around to face him, but stared down at her hands instead. She wanted – needed – for him to see and feel her pain. To be understanding, to comfort her. He was supposed to be her friend, and that was what she needed. "Hardly." She swallowed. "What separates us from beasts is compassion, Reaver. Maybe you should try showing a little sometime. You're not even a real person anymore; just a statue with dead, grey eyes. And I-" Finally, she met his gaze, and she could see him physically wither as she did so. "I miss that... _sparkle_ that you got in your eyes when you looked at me, or even when you kicked some poor sod into the dirt.

"You're not you, Reaver. You've changed, and I'm not sure when or how it happened, but I don't like it. I used to think that you were cruel for taking pleasure in other people's pain, but now I wish that you would just take pleasure in something. _Anything_. I miss you, and I just want to go back to the way that it used to be."

As he spoke, he did not raise his voice in the slightest. He held her gaze, his face unmoving "When, exactly? Before Garth came back, when you were a complete mess and you couldn't even eat by yourself and you were so weak you didn't know how to carry a damn baby properly? Or after Garth came back, when I was off babysitting your little angel while you played house with the old man? Or when you were pregnant with his baby, and he _actually _withheld sex from you, and you _had _to get it somewhere? Or those five years when I was your sassy gay friend? Or the year following when I was back to looking after you? Or how about the months I got to enjoy watching you fall for your butler? When was it, exactly, that we were both so perfectly happy, my dear?"

Staring him straight in the eye, very, very slowly, tasting the words on her tongue, she said to him, with a stone cold face, "Fuck. You."

"If it's all the same to you, darling, I'm a bit tired tonight, so you'll have to top, I'm afraid." Sparrow visibly cringed, making the words taste sour in his mouth, which only made watching her advance to the brink of tears even worse.

"Is this because we haven't spoken in a few weeks? I was just embarrassed, I me-"

"Wrong! Try again."

"Is this about what you saw?"

"Incorrect, I'm sorry. Please play again."

"Jasper?"

"Oh! So close. Better luck next time."

"Is this because you said that you loved me? I just thought-"

"It doesn't matter what you thought. It matters what it meant. Do you know how many I've told that I love them?"

"Three?"

"Let us count; My daughter, who is dead, just as she has been for 200 years; that's one; Logan, the boy I raised as my own son; that makes two. Anyone else, I wonder...? No, only you. And do you remember what you said, my dear?"

"I know."

"You know! I'm not sure whether I should feel naked or just offended, so I'll just say both. You say that you love having a little 'insight' into my character, so allow me to tell you this; I do a lot of terrible things. I steal, I cheat, I lie and I enjoy it all very much but those are things that I would never do to you."_ My affair with your son notwithstanding._ "Call it all an act, or a 'shell', if you will, but this terrible person is very much me. I'm an open book. There is little else about me to know. But not even a beast can, hmm, how do I...?– doves, they mate for life, you know, so what I'm trying to say is -"

"You want to mate with me?" She found it hard to believe that Reaver was so off his game he could hardly put his thoughts to words. That was something that he, generally, did a little too well.

"I can still _feel_ things. I can still _love_, as hard as that is for you to believe. And I love you."

"Can't you just –" She didn't want to hurt him, but she didn't know how _not_ to hurt him. "I just want us to forget everything tonight, just for a bit. I don't want us to fight, but... You're lying. You're so much more than a terrible person. When you find somebody lucky enough to want to get to know you, they get to see how kind you can be, and thoughtful because you and I both know very well you've done so much for me, and asked for nothing in return."

"Because I love you." He pushed himself out of the chair and to his knees and Sparrow watched slack-jawed as he actually crawled over to her. He took her hands, and looked up at her. "You can't expect a friend to just let you decide what goes on between them. Just because you don't like something about them, or how they feel or how they act does not make it their job to change to please you."

Sparrow searched his eyes, watching as just the smallest amount of light brought them back to life. She reached for words that weren't there, closed her eyes, and leaned down to rest her forehead on his. "I don't want you to change. I just want you to hold me. For one night."

Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the hall to her room, and set her down on the edge of the bed. He sat down next to her and looked at her expectantly. She cocked her head to one side. "You know this isn't sex, right?"

"Oh, no, I know."

"A-alright. I'll just go put on my bedclothes, and you can, just, take of your coat... your vest..." Her eyes actually glazed over. "...your shirt." He smirked, but bowed and watched her leave. She hurried into the closet and shut the door. She quickly tore all of her clothes off, all the while questioning why in the Hell she ever thought that this would be a good idea. He wouldn't be able to just _cuddle _with her all night. And yet she decided on a skimpy nightgown.

Before she went back out, she quickly looked to Jasper's jacket, which hung in solitary near the door. She ran her fingers down the sleeve quickly before she burst out back into the bedroom and into full view of the almost-in-the-nude Reaver. He sat there, of course, beautifully, with his hands behind his head, leaning against the headboard, his legs crossed, his toes tapping to the tune he whistled quietly to himself. So quietly, in fact, she could barely make out the familiar song, but she managed to catch on.

"Down by the reeds," she sang softly, catching his attention. "Down by the reeds."

"Swim the sirens of Oakvale," he answered in song. "Out to the seas." And that was when she saw it, however slight it was; that sparkle in his eyes. "Tell me, my dear, what would possess you to ask such an _intimate _favour of me."

"This is quite literally the longest amount of time I've gone without spooning for the past fourteen years and the loneliness is really..." She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at her lap. "It's deafeningly maddening, and I really, _really _can't take waking up along anymore." She turned to face him again, and smiled sadly. "I'm glad Garth's gone. I know it sounds terrible, but I am just so glad. However, there are now very few men in my life. Walter was out of the question, Jasper is... incapacitated, hence my dilemma. Logan is my son. That leaves you."

"Always glad to be your backup plan."

"You're no such thing, Reaver. You're always my first choice." She leaned back on to the bed, her head resting on his chest, and closed her eyes.

"Oh, that's no fair. You naughty little girl you, you can't just say that."

"Why not? Screw propriety, we're alone. You're my best friend."

"That's not what I meant."

"And what _did_ you mean?"

"If you're going to refuse to tell me that you love me, you can't _encourage _me like that. It makes me feel like some... dirty whore."

"First of all, you are a whore. Second; what do you mean? Our relationship runs on flirting and whispers of sweet nothings. How will we fill the time if not with an unending flow of compliments, giggling, animal noises and inappropriate touching?"

"That's hardly true. We certainly love to quarrel."

"Like an old couple."

"And we plan parties very well."

"The only children we've ever had." She didn't mean to say it. It just came out.

"I'm sorry for saying that it was your fault," he said softly.

"But it was."

"Well, I know that, but I didn't have to say it."

There were tears in her eyes, but she was laughing, and she wasn't sure why. He stroked her hair silently. "I'm a great, big, bloody mess all of the time. Why _do _you love me?"

He inhaled sharply. He'd never really given it much thought; it wasn't something that required thought, only feeling. He debated whether or not he should answer for a few moments, but remembered that he would not lie to her. "I don't change. I adapt quite beautifully, but essentially, I remain the same person. But you do not."

"Is that really it?" She felt a little disappointed.

"You are exciting, but you're also a rock. A hopeful, unique little rock who never ceases its annoying suggestion that I am less than despicable and you make me feel warm and tingly." He smirked to himself in such a way that she could hear him do so. "Even though, despite yourself, you're fairly certain that despicable is all I am, you seem ready to accept me as such and I am nothing less than grateful. Not to mention you're nothing short of attractive and that's something I look for in a mate."

She flipped on to all fours and crawled over to him. "Meow."

"Stop that immediately."

She leaned in toward him, her forehead resting against his, and looked him dead in the eye, and mewed.

"It's not funny."

"Meow."

"I'm serious."

"Meeeeoowww."

"I will leave."

"Meow." She licked his cheek. The look he had in his eyes was the look of a man who was about to snap and possibly beat her to death with the boot sitting next to the bed, but was also, probably, a little aroused. "Why won't you wove me, mistah Weavah?"

"Strangely enough, this probably isn't the most awkward foreplay I've ever partaken in, but it is certainly the only sort to ever make me want to kill myself."

"Oh, mistah Weavah, pwease be nice, owah you wiwl make me sad."

"I'm going find someone with a lisp, beat them to death, and then dance and/or engage in sexual intercourse on top of their corpse."

"Mistah Weavah?"

"No."

"Mistah Weavah?"

"So help me, I will-"

"Mistah Weavah?"

"_**WHAT?!**_"

Sparrow was unfazed by the fiery rage in his eyes. She held his gaze. "I love you."

"I know."

"..."

"..."

She laid down next to him, and snuggled up close, but he didn't move, or look at her. "Is this because of the voice? Is it really so awful? I'm sorry."

He did not speak as they assumed the spooning position, but said, finally, "I love you too."

"I know. You smell good."

"I know."

"I missed that."

"..."

"So you'd really never lie to me?"

"No."

"Never ever?"

"There's something I must confess; something I haven't told you."

"What?"

"I... had... Garth... killed."

She shrunk away from him, and flipped over so that she could face him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes anyway. He could feel her weight shifting next to him. Then she grabbed his wrist, and pulled it. He felt something oddly familiar. Something he'd not felt in a long time. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes."

Reaver smiled and felt it gingerly, savouring the feeling and storing it in the backs of his memory. "It's been too long, my darling Robin."

"I'm sorry, but did you just call my vagina _Robin_?"

"Oh, my, did I say that out loud?"

"Forget it." She flipped on to her side facing away from him. "Asshole."

"My dear, I'm admittedly confused." He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her bare shoulder. She took his hand and brought it to her lips.

"You had my husband killed, and I find that that makes you extremely attractive. I don't see a problem." There was a silence, then they simultaneously burst into laughter. "I can't believe you named my twat. Did you name my girls too?"

He was shaking so violently with laughter he could hardly force a reply. "C-C-Chick and D-Dee," he managed finally, only resulting in more laughter from the pair.

"You started a civil war, Reaver," she cried, gasping for air, clutching her sides.

As they tried to calm themselves, the closer they got, the harder it became. They managed to remain silent for a moment, but it did not last too long, and the cycle continued until they very suddenly fell asleep.

* * *

When Sparrow awoke, she was alone. Her stomach was empty, she struggled for air that wasn't there.

Reaver had left her.

It took her a moment to realize why she had woken up. Something had startled her. A loud crash. Yes, she remembered. And it was scorching hot in the royal bedroom. As she forced her eyes open, she could see flames licking the stone walls, the red-hot fire devouring everything in its path; rapidly approaching her. Something grabbed her wrist; a warm, clammy hand. She could hardly seen anything, now, through the smoke.

"Get up! Get up! I'll not see you go yet, you funny, wonderful woman, you. Get up!" He simply yanked her out of bed, on to her feet. "Ever played this game before? The house is on fire, what one thing do you grab? It's a game I know well. Now go! I'll grab your coat." Sparrow stood stock-still, petrified. "What are you waiting for?! I said go!"

"L-L-Logan?"

"He's fine, make haste, dear!"

Sparrow's muscles tensed as she sprung into action, sprinting through the door into the map room, straight toward the desk. Doubt filled her mind; she knew she had to save Jasper's journal, but she couldn't. She went straight for her top drawer, yanking it open, grabbing the contents. A coat made its way over her shoulders. She turned and shoved everything into the hem of Reaver's underpants, and went back to grab the only remnants of the contents of the drawer. She carefully tucked the two photographs into her chest and turned to run.

Alas, she tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face. She was sobbing so heavily she could not move. He picked her up and ran out, down the stairs and through the kitchen door out into the back garden. All she could think about was Jasper's journal, and, "Shit! Jasper!" Her mind was racing, her heart pounding. And then she saw Logan, standing there, in only his pants, knees shaking, the butler thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and she let out a deep breath, allowing herself to relax against Reaver, who followed Logan down into the newly built crypt, where Garth now rested.

Once inside the shelter, they all paused to relax. Reaver set Sparrow down and took Jasper off of poor Logan, and they continued on their path with haste. Sparrow could hardly understand what was happening. Logan saw the shock in his mother's eyes and reached down to take her hand. "You're welcome," he said softly, nodding toward Jasper's limp body.

"This place is quite interesting," Reaver said. "A crypt _and_ escape route, in case the dead ever got sick of the place, I suppose."

"I was inspired by you," she told him. "Except, instead of a wine, I figured I might store my dead husband down here. Not as luxurious, but it'll do."

By the time they reached the cullis gate, they were exhausted. "Ooh, fancy," Reaver noted, nodding toward the ancient artifact.

"Are you ready to see my greatest secret?" she asked him, stepping on, inviting the other two to join her.

"It's quite brilliant," Logan remarked.

"It's not some sort of... sex torture dungeon, is it?" Reaver asked.

"Yes. My son and I frequent my secret sex torture dungeon together. Of course it isn't."

"That's a shame."

With a bright flash, they were in a cold, dark room. "We'll be safe here," Sparrow told Reaver, closing her eyes and slumping down against the wall. She finally took the time to breathe, trying to process the recent events, assessing the situation. She reached into the pockets of her coat, only then realizing it was Jasper's. She checked the inner pockets; she found the velvet box with the rings, and the journal just as she'd left them. She looked at Reaver, who was wandering around, picking things up and taking it all in. He saw her watching him and smiled, but did not notice the tears in her eyes.

Sparrow brought a hand to her mouth to suppress the sound of her soft cries, and used the other hand to remove the photographs from her bosom. She examined them closely, to find them unchanged. They were the photographs she had found in Reaver's attic in Bloodstone, the ones Barnum had taken with his picture box. They'd been kept with a few others which she'd just found lying around. She had no idea how they, as well as the picture box, had gotten there, but she had been glad to find them. The first was a lot older and faded than the other; it was of her and Rose. It brought a smile to her face to see her big sister standing there, looking happy, as she stood posing next to her, flexing her arms and showing off like a real hero. The other was, of course, of Reaver.

"Don't I look dashing positively dashing?" Reaver asked, slumping down next to her. "I still do."

"I'm not so sure. You were the pirate _king_ then. Now you're just a fat cat who sits in his office all day. You've put on a few pounds since then," she said shakily, looking over at him. She patted his gut. "You're practically tubby."

"My dear, that only means there's more of me to love."

The queen let out a half-laugh, half-sob and let him wipe away her tears. She brought a hand to his cheek and forced herself to hold his gaze. Slowly, she ran a thumb along his jaw to his chin and held it, tilting his face downward slightly. And, ever so slowly – agonizingly slowly – she brought her lips to his. Softly, and lightly, for hardly a moment. "You came for me."

"Oh, Sparrow, you know I'd gladly come for you any day." He winked at her. She laughed, and scooted over closer to him, letting him take her in his arms.

"Can we all agree," Logan began, "not to tell Jasper I went back for him? As far as he's concerned, you, mum, were the one to risk her life to save him. As opposed to telling him you were off having naked adventures with Reaver."

"I'll have you know, Logan, we were clothed the entire time," Sparrow assured him. "Watch yourself, boy."

"Right, no matter, mother. I have no doubt things were headed in that direction." There was an apparent bitterness in his voice. "Moving on; what are we going to do now? Where are we going to go? We can't exactly keep Jasper here, propped up against a wall, and sleep on the floor."

"We have to go off the map," Sparrow said firmly. "And however much it pains me, I think we have to go home."

Reaver looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Home?" Logan asked.

Sparrow remained silent, placing a hand on Reaver's knee. Reaver closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall, stretching out his legs and took a deep breath. "Bloodstone."

* * *

Logan got settled in his old room, and the put Jasper in the spare. By then, they were completely exhausted. Sparrow shed the coat off on to the floor and climbed into bed. Reaver pulled the contents of Sparrow's desk drawer out of his unmentionables and set them down on the bedside table next to her. And then, he just stood there, looking at her. She stared up at him, with wide eyes. "I was in the kitchen," he said suddenly, "getting a glass of water, when it all started."

"I thought that you had left me," she admitted softly. He smiled. "For Avo's sake, Reaver, get in bed. I mean, you're just standing there in your pants, looking all enticing and I really can't stand it any longer.

"Yes, madam, of course, madam."

"F-fuck your hands are cold."

"Well then, warm them up."

"S-stop, it's c-cold." His hands rested on her bare abdomen, up her nightgown. "A-ah." He laughed. She could feel the laugh in his chest. The way he wrapped around her made her feel at home. The painful memories seemed to melt away.


	19. Rotten Fruit

**Act II Part VII  
Rotten Fruit**

* * *

Reaver woke up to crying. Soft, high-pitched, muffled cries, just hardly loud enough for him to make out what exactly it was. It took him a second, and then a few more to figure out where it was coming from and why. After so many crude awakenings of the same variety, he would have thought it wouldn't have taken him so long. Though, to be fair, his wake-up brain often betrayed him in such ways. He sighed and tucked a hand under the sheet, and felt his leg, the brought his hand up so he could examine the liquid dripping from his fingers. Then, he heaved another sigh.

He turned on to his side and examined the trembling figure next to him, and tried to soothe her cries with sweet coos and a soft 'Sh-h'. He stroked Sparrow's hair and tried to remain calm. He tried not to get upset, or angry, because this was about her, as it always had been. But he was used to this now, he supposed, even though he would never get used to seeing her like this. She only ever got more distraught as time passed. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head and smiled a sad smile that she couldn't see. "No no. None of that non-sense. Don't be sorry for something that's not your fault." And then, being the terrible person he was, he had to take a shot at the woman while she was down; the wise-crack that had been festering in the back of his sick mind for some many months. "Logan used to wet the bed sometimes, too."

She wanted to hit him. Really hard. Or shoot him – that'd be more satisfying. But she was too tired, and too weak, and covered in her own blood, so she just laid there and cried a little louder. He didn't feel any worse – he couldn't have begun to. His low capacity for sorry and sympathy had been reached. He forced himself to get up and started stripping the sheets, leaving poor Sparrow to be exposed to the elements. Carefully, he picked her up and moved her out of the way so he could finish the task, then he discarded the mess of blankets and he marched over to the wardrobe, slipping out of his unmentionables.

Fully exposed, he turned to look at her, and arched an eyebrow when he caught her inevitable wandering eyes. "Almost makes you want to give another go, doesn't it?" He smirked, slipping on another pair, then grabbed another nightgown and tossed it at the shaky, sobbing queen.

She turned away and got to changing. He heard her say, ever-so softly, "That's not funny."

"Well I'm sorry, my dear. It is a bit cold in here." He got a bundle of blankets out of the closet and started on re-making the bed. "I was just thinking I should light a fire. Burn those sheets. They're only the finest silk and now – well now they're ruined. That's not going to come out." He was chuckling.

"That's _not_ funny."

"Then why am I laughing?" Reaver stopped abruptly and turned back to look at her. "If it's not funny, then what is it? Frustrating? Sad? Oh no! – the expensive sheets are ruined! However will I live without them? It is truly a tragedy, I'll admit. It doesn't mean you can't laugh about it. Laughter is the best medicine, really. Especially in the case of such a tragedy."

"I'm glad that my pain fills your world with laughter, Reaver. I really am." She didn't sound angry, or even sarcastic. Just broken. The tone of her voice made him cringe, but his smile hardly faltered. "I miss Jasper. At least he cared about me."

Then did his smile fade. "I cannot express to you how _glad _I am that he is _not _here."

"How could you say that?"

"It needed to be said. I know that the moment he wakes up –"

"No no no."

"Yes yes yes. You'll always chose him over me for the sheer fact that we are an uncertainty. We can't seem to figure out to love each other – or be loved by each other, for that matter. We can't have a baby, either. Then there's me, with whom you can never figure out where you stand. I can't really blame you; I'm an anomaly."

"You're not good enough for me," she deadpanned. "I love you too much."

"It's only a matter of time."

"It doesn't have to be so inevitable. If you just tried –"

"You say that as though I don't try hard enough to begin with." He wiped his eyes. "I'm leaking. Do you see this? Do you see what you're doing to me, you damned woman? If it makes any difference at all, I've never hidden anything from you _except_ – You know, I think I should earn bonus points if I tell you this. – that I..." He let out a breath in a sort of laugh, and breathed in sharply. "I actually... before Logan left my custody, we... we were _sleeping _together. As in bedroom parties. I taught him everything he knows. Isn't that _funny_?"

She stared at him, jaw dropped, in disbelief, disgust and horror. "Yes. That's _really __**funny**_. Now get out."

He seemed panic-stricken. "No, no, you don't understand."

"How hard is it to understand that you _defiled_ my _son_..?!"

"Ah, see, I only did it because he was such a perfect image of you. You don't know how he longed to be with you when he was young. He wanted to _be _you. He was so much like you, too. He still is. Surely you've realized by now that I really, cannot, for the life of me, go without you for so long. And he was there. I just _loved _him, almost like the way I loved you because he was so much like you. But he isn't you. He's a teenage boy. And I'm in love with his mother."

Sparrow stared at him for a moment, jaw clenched, breathing sharply through her nose. She ran her thumb across her bottom lip, closed her eyes a moment, and sighed. "Get out. Now." She watched him get dressed and then leave. The moment he closed the door, she broke down.

* * *

A lifetime passed by in two hours, and the smells from the kitchen beckoned to Sparrow with whispers of sweet nothing and she could no longer deny the call of what smelled like a fatty, meaty breakfast. Not after spending some 30 minutes retching, trying to erase the thoughts of Reaver touching her son. However, in the grand scheme of things – learning that the man she loved was a pedophile who had _violated her son_ – she liked to think that she had handled the news rather well. Although, to be fair, she'd always suspected. A mother always knows. And she knew Reaver well. Too well. Still, it hurt.

What hurt the most was her own realization that she was beginning to attempt to rationalize all of this – to understand and accept it as though it were nothing to her. She felt like it should mean so much more to her, but it just didn't. Not as much as she thought it should. That was what made her sick most of all – herself. To think she was so dependent on Reaver that she would _rationalize his sexual activities with her son _was too much for her to wrap her mind around. The pedophilia was not, however. And then, she took another step back and remembered the kingdom over which she ruled was in the middle of a civil war, and she was playing house with her best friend.

Sparrow forced herself up on her weak knees and stumbled out, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Reaver was stirring a pot, as he always seem to be doing in one sense or another. She sauntered over to him, slowly. He looked up and saw her. He pointed at the pot and said, "Balverine head soup."

"That would explain the headless balverine lying in the corner," she said softly. "You and your soups."

"Moi et mes soupes," he repeated softly. She wouldn't look at him anymore. He didn't like it when she was quiet.

She let the silence hang in the air for a while longer before blurting out, "Was it any good?"

"The sex? It was adequate."

"Does my son taste as good as I do?"

"My dear, _nobody_ tastes as good as you do." He caught the faintest ghost of a smile gracing her lips for a second before fading away.

"Look; Walter is going to be at the castle some time around noon, so –"

"The sun hasn't yet risen."

"I know, I just... Do I smell apple pie?"

"Yes, one of the recipes I swapped with you-know-who before the you-know-what," he said quickly. "I figured Logan might enjoy it. It _is _his favourite, correct?"

Sparrow stared at him. "I suppose. But I – I should go –"

"N-no! Don't! Please! I'm _so _sorry. I really am. I'm seldom sorry, but I swear I am. I don't know what I have to do or say to –"

"_Upstairs. _You know he's an early riser."

"Right. Right. But I still mean it. _I love you_."

"I know," she muttered, turning on her heals and marching with great purpose upstairs.

She went down the hall and stopped outside of the guest bedroom. She turned the knob slowly and pushed the door inward into the dark room. She crept in, closing the door behind her and tiptoed over to the bed. Carefully, she lowered herself into bed, scooting closer to the frail figure. She flipped onto her side, held on to Jasper's limp body, and cried.

* * *

The curtains were drawn, the unwelcome sunlight creeping into the room and waking Sparrow from a light sleep. Logan fell into bed in between her and the comatose butler with a long sigh. He stared at the ceiling, hands resting on his chest, his bare toes tapping to some imaginary beat. Sparrow opened her eyes and regarded him with a kind smile. "Lo, you're lying on my hand." As her senses began to awaken, she remembered she was holding on to Jasper's hand. "Lo."

"Yeah, sorry, mummy." He shifted his weight a little, so she could free her hand from his back's cruel oppression. As she did, she felt a squeeze.

"A-Avo's Holy Arse!"

"W-what?"

She brought her hand up so that he could their interlocked fingers, then she let go of his hand, only to have him hold on for himself. "He's been doing this for for weeks, but... he's never squeezed before, and..." They looked at each other through the same, wide, brown eyes. She ventured onward. "Jasper? Lo, talk to him!"

"Right, right!" He turned to face the old man, and nudged him gently. "Jasper! Hurry; Sparrow is dying!"

"Oh, that's funny, Lo."

"Thank-you." He touched Jasper face, ran him thumb over his cheek. "Jasper, please. I need you."

"Oh, why not just kiss him?"

"Ah yes, I forgot that I had the kiss of life. It's the scar; it sucks the death out of people. Gives it somewhere to go. But it corrupts me something awful," he joked, nuzzling back into the embrace of his mother. "What would happen if he woke up? Would we leave? Would you marry him? Would he even be able to move for himself? I mean, of course, we've fed him soup, but not moving for so long, surely he'd have forgotten."

Sparrow chuckled at the innocence of that assumption. Sometimes she could forget so easily that he was still a child at heart, and now that she could see he'd not had much of a childhood to begin with, of course he felt the urge to ask such silly questions and come up with such ridiculous theories as this. She couldn't help but indulge him, "In regards to the former two; I've no honest idea. To the latter; perhaps it's like he's just gone to sleep for the night, and he'll wake up like it was no time at all. Or maybe he knows what's going on, but he's trapped and screaming and no one can hear."

"I like the first idea better," he said. "I do not wish such a horrendous torment as the other on _anyone_. Especially not Jasper. Not on anyone I love. The mere thought is sickening." He nestled his hand in between his own head and the pillow for comfort, and sighed. "In any case; up and about, in peaceful slumber or awake and screaming, Jasper would want us out of here. I can't stand to be here anymore. I know I worry you with my disappearances, but you have to understand –"

"I lost the baby again."

"I heard you fighting earlier. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Reaver told me, Logan. It's okay. You don't have to explain. I know him so well. But now... lately... some days I feel like I hardly know him at all. It's really hard. He takes his toll on you and loving him is something I would not wish on _anyone_. Especially not you. Not my son, whom I'm trying my best to protect, but it seems as though it's too late and I... I am truly sorry. There are no words for me to express –" She held her son tightly to herself. She closed her eyes and breathed him in slowly. He always smelled sweet, like a baby. But he was shaking against her. "He needs his fantasy and freedom."

"He _is_ fantasy and freedom," was all he could said before he began sobbing into Jasper's warm shoulder. Sparrow kissed the back of his neck and tried not to cry. She was not the only victim of Reaver's brand of heartbreak, and her son took priority. The thought that he had been suffering for so long in silence disturbed her. It sickened her. She sickened herself, to think she could not see.

"How easily we've broken ourselves without Jasper to look after us," she said softly. "How easily I've made a muck of things. Keeping you here, thinking I was doing what was best for us both. I was wrong to think Reaver could take care of us. He is no replacement for Jasper. He is no replacement for anything. And I am so tired of all of this. This hiding from tragedy, in what we've long since called home. Hiding from a war started because my people thought I was weak. It's time for us to move on, and go back to our real home, and rebuild it."

"Let me guess; with love?"

"The strongest."

"I very much think that I hate love."

"When trying a fruit for the first time, one does not know which one is ripe, and they will pick any one. Usually the rotten one. It does not mean the rest are rotten, too," she said wisely. "You picked the absolute _worst_ possible man to fall in love with. Loving Reaver hurts, but it will pass, and one day, maybe you'll be lucky enough to be lying in bed with your own son, bonding as bosom buddies, next to your incapacitated lover," she added almost bitterly, but in good-humour. "_Balls. _That apple pie smells good."

"I want to go..."

"So do I. Get packed. We'll sneak out the window."

"I-I-I... I didn't say anything," Logan whispered. "Mum, _that wasn't me_."

"W-wh...ere..?"

Sparrow jumped. Or perhaps it was more of a sudden jolt, causing her to fall back on to the floor, dragging Logan with her. Once she hit the floor, she said in the most calm matter as possible – which was not at all calm, but rather panicked and very loud, "_Fuck fuckitty fucking Hell_!"

Her exclamation was met with a hollered inquiry from Reaver, down below, "Are you alright? What happened?"

There was a silence. Sparrow was overcoming her initial shock, so Logan answered with, "Nothing, just fell out of bed." There was no followup, and they couldn't hear him making any move to come check up on them, so he assumed he'd done well. Meanwhile, Sparrow rushed to Jasper's side and clutched his hand a little too tightly. Logan went to his other side, kneeling down on the floor and took his other hand. Sparrow felt his face, searching for any signs of life.

"It's the pie," she laughed. "The bloody pie."

"Wha..?"

"Jasper!" She squeezed his hand tighter, and kissed it. "Wake up, you old bastard, we're supposed to get married." She stroked his face, and watched him carefully. Grey met brown as his eyes flickered open, only to close again quickly, shut tightly, his brow scrunched up and lips pursed in a sour face. Her breath left her, tears forming in her eyes as she watched him emote for the first time in an eternity. "Jasper..."

Logan was long past the breaking point. Tears of joy washed the tears of pain from his pale, hollow cheeks as he watched Jasper coming back to life with increasing speed. He hugged his arm and cried, trembling and shaking beyond control. He was reduced to nothing in mere seconds, while Sparrow was simply in shock and awe of it all. He watched her get back under the sheets next to him. She began to kiss his face, the tears finally beginning to fall. "We thought you were gone."

It took Jasper a long while for him to get his bearings, but he said, finally, "You'll not break our engagement so easily, royal _hag_," in the most affectionate way one can say such a thing. His voice was weak and scratchy, but it still sounded like velvet. "How... long have I been asleep, then? I feel as though..." He made an effort to prop himself up, but could hardly move his arms an inch. "Well, as though I can't move at all."

"It's been a while," Sparrow said gently, as Logan was completely incoherent. "I tried using some old magic to heal you – just to keep you alive, but..."

"It's my birthday," Logan sobbed.

"A... year?"

"Seventeenth," she said quickly. "It's his seventeenth. It's been two years, Jasper." He stared ahead in disbelief. "Oh, Jasper, my love..."

"Where are we?"

The sound of Reaver's calls to them, announcing brunch, were enough an answer to him. "Sparrow..."

A single sob racked her body as she gazed at him through those gorgeous, apologetic brown eyes, and he finally managed to turn his head to look at her properly. Seeing him look at her like that – like he used to... "We have to leave," she said. "Now."

"I'm not sure I can walk, to be honest."

"I can carry you," Logan managed. He arose shakily to his feet and wasted no time. Sparrow helped him get Jasper out of the bed.

"Well, you've grown quite a bit, haven't you?" Logan half laughed, half sobbed at that, now carrying the man's full weight on his back. And he had – he was certainly much taller, a much less scrawny than he had been before the incident. Jasper cursed himself for having missed so much time. He would never forgive himself. Not for making Sparrow wait. Not for worrying them.

When Sparrow re-entered the room – having left it without him noticing – she had the worn, blue coat, and a worn photograph which she tucked into her bosom so quickly the other two didn't even see it. "We don't have much choice. We'll have to sneak through the front door. But there's a carriage already waiting to take me to the castle, so all we have to do is get out there without Reaver realizing we're gone."

"That's a bit cruel, don't you think?"

"He broke my heart," Sparrow and Logan said in an eerily perfect unison. Jasper did not dispute it any further. It took him a moment to realize Sparrow must know about Reaver's indiscretions, then, and cursed himself again for not being there to console her. There would be time for that later. "Let's go, quickly."

Sparrow lead them down the hall and stairs. She poked her head around the corner, but Reaver was nowhere to be seen. She motioned for Logan to follow as she jiggled the front door open, and held it for him. She slipped out behind them and closed it almost silently. They made their way down the cobblestone path and found the driver sitting at his post, his hat over his face, snoozing. Sparrow called to him, "Hey! We need to leave. Now."

The driver snapped to attention and tried to collect himself in a panic as the other three climbed into the cart. Logan helped Jasper down next to Sparrow. Unable to support himself, he fell against her and she smiled, taking his hand. He looked up at her and said, "I'd like to kiss you, but I find myself unable to do so. If you would be so kind as to put yourself within range, should Logan not have any objections..."

"No no, by all means."

As she scooted over closer to him, he was able to sit taller. Finally, she was close nough so that he could tilt his head ever-so-slightly and capture her lips with his own. Sparrow pulled him in tightly, hungrily, tears streaming down her cheeks once again, as the carriage jolted forward slightly and they hit the open road.


	20. A Strange Birthday Celebration

**Act II Part VIII  
A Strange Birthday Celebration**

* * *

_Ever since her first great conquest, she'd never been denied anything she wanted. As Albion's 'Dumpling', there was nothing a bit of innocent flirting couldn't get her, or get her out of. She did get into trouble plenty of times, she just went unpunished. It was the tough life that came for the unimaginably beautiful, charming hero, she supposed. Nobody was immune to her charms, and she never gave it anyway. 'It' being sex. No, she was far too clever and had far too much self-respect for herself._

_Sparrow was so used to having everyone bend to her will that when she was made to bend to someone else's, she was both outraged and intrigued. It was the first time she was forced to obey. And that word stuck with her, wherever she went. It stuck with her, embedded itself in the back of her mind. She didn't want to obey, so she didn't. But she wanted to be told to. And that feeling, the forcefulness of it all, excited her. She wanted to be treated as the special, precious thing she was, and it became her new mission in life to achieve dominance over him._

_Infatuation was never the word. It was a deep, intense obsession. She needed him to do as she willed. With every breath came that same thought, the need that got her into the trouble in the first place. The only way she knew how to get what she wanted was her sweet talk, and that could only encourage him. He wanted to extinguish the fire in her heart, break her spirits, and make her belong to him in every way. Little did he know, because her obsession, she really did belong to him._

_When it began, she couldn't decide. The years had blurred, the only light in the darkness being her visits with Garth. They could speak only briefly, but every word was kind, and perhaps that was why she love him: he always gave her hope. But he was never in her thoughts then. And that was how it began, with an itch and a dark fantasy burning in her mind._

_Living such close quarters with her peers, it was very difficult to find any kind of private time. The other guards disregarded this. Many nights she'd been kept awake with the sounds of one of the men's... self-love. She'd never really felt the urge. All she could feel was despair, and emptiness. But not that night. Her thoughts strayed to him, doing only as she said, breathing as she willed, existing for her, and with that came an irresistible itch that could only be scratched in one way._

_She kept quiet, but apparently not quiet enough. It was strange, as though someone could sense somebody thinking so much of then, she thought, because he seemed to appear out of nowhere, and slipped under the sheets next to her. Before she had time enough to react, though, he placed a rough hand over her mouth. She could feel him pressed against her back, his free hand feeling up her thigh slowly, his breath hot on her ear. The hand on her mouth pulled her head back against him. She whimpered at the roughness with which he did so, and the force only increased as she tried to resist._

_"Obey, two seven three," he whisper gruffly into her ear. And in that moment, it was all she could do. Her owned her, mind, body and soul. She needed him. It was a sick need, her obsession, and she always hated it. But she could never shake it._

* * *

"I feel so old, Jasper."

"You _should_, I'm afraid. You're easily the oldest woman in Albion by now." Sparrow's fiery glare made him uneasy. He shifted his position in bed. "If it's any consolation, madam, your people don't exactly have the longest life expectancy. Well, goodness, that isn't a very nice thought either. Would it help if I reminded you I'm a year older than you?"

"Hardly, dear. You're an old man."

"You're too kind to me, your majesty. And what does that make you? An old maid?"

"It's not that I never married so much as I just outlived my husbands. I should be celebrated, not mocked," she mumbled into her pillow. "I just ended a civil war, in case you've forgotten, which all began with my best friend hiring someone to kill one of the aforementioned husbands. That's not even half of the drama that has spanned over my many years. You can't say I've led an uneventful life, this is certain."

"That _is_ true, madam. And I must say I applaud you for enduring it all."

"Yes, and in celebration, I suggest we both partake in some good old-fashioned, sweaty, elderly love-making," Sparrow said, straightening up and tossing him the 'come hither, dear' eyes that he could never resist.

"Oh, do you dare me to refuse, knowing how I _crave_ the feeling of your excess skin on mine?" he said in his life-is-a-stage sort of way.

"Happy fiftieth birthday to me," she said to herself, before promptly being pounced upon.

* * *

"So, you're planning to sit here and do nothing all day?" Logan asked over breakfast. "You could be doing things, and having fun. And you choose to sit here and do nothing?"

"Well, I'm travelling to Brightwall tomorrow on business, and I figured that we could spend the night in the mountains afterwards. Today, there's not much to be done, I'm afraid," Sparrow told him. "What would you have me do?"

"Well, mother, you _have_ been wearing that engagement ring on that chain around your neck for, what? Three years now, is it? Wouldn't it be romantic if you just... eloped?"

The queen and her butler stared at him in confusion. Sparrow laughed and said, "What do you know of romance, Lo? Why the sudden fascination, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I've developed a taste for it, reading Jasper's extensive personal library," he said decidedly. Jasper coughed and cleared his throat, his face red in embarrassment

"If your so inclined, why not go out and seek a romance of your own?" Sparrow asked him. "Meet a nice young lady. Or man. Whatever tickles your fancy. I've honestly no idea what to expect from you at this time, really. I can't say I could care less, either way."

"I've sworn off personal romances. Besides, what romance could be better than yours, mother?"

"Don't you have friends you could be bothering, dearest?"

"Never have had any, now that I think about it, no. Thank you for widening the painful gap where my childhood should be. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to talking about the gap where your secret marriage should be..?"

"It's all up to you," Jasper said passively.

Sparrow pounded her fists on the table. "Excellent. Inform Walter at once, Logan."

"Yes, I'm sorry, of what should I inform him?"

"That he's to give me away in the mountains at sundown, of course," she said, as though pointing out the obvious. "I know the leader of the mountain dwellers. He owes me a favour for his recent right to dwell, so I'm sure he'd be glad to do this for us."

"Hold on a moment," Jasper interjected. "Are we getting married today?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

"Can I ask a favour?" Logan asked. "I'd like to make a quick stop along the way."

The wedding party of four plus a carriage driver embarked before noon that day, and did not stop save once, in front of Reaver's empty mansion. And, in broad daylight, with his mother and soon-to-be stepfather at his side, Logan struck a match, and set the house on fire. They stood and watched the flames work their way up the side of the great building as long as they could before the heat became unbearable. It was what _should_ have been the great closer for what had been his only ever romance in his lonely life. Unfortunately for him, it would not be the end. He just didn't know it yet.

* * *

For her first wedding, Sparrow was completely lost, and completely content with that. She could remember waking up that day, wiping the sleep from her eyes, and smiling, remembering that she was getting married that day. She had a gown, perfectly tailored for her, and hair she didn't know what to do with. But she had Hannah, who was really a great help with everything. Everything was taken care of – no room left for mistake, or error, or doubt.

More than ten years later, there came her second. She didn't have Hannah to look after her that time, but Reaver came back to see her, at least. It had been months since she'd seen Logan, then, and she had no desire to see either of them. But, once again, Reaver looked after her when she needed it; he planned the whole thing, leaving no room for mistake or error, only doubt. I didn't help that when he tried to help her get dressed and do her hair, they both ended up naked and that did not end well for any party involved.

This time, she found herself at Logan's mercy, cooped up in a small dweller caravan, though she knew that, even without his help, she would not be lost. There she was, for the first time without a single ounce of doubt in her troublesome mind. She closed her eyes and let Logan fumble foolishly with her hair, trying to gather it into some sort of bun, but he was absolutely useless. Still, she smiled and carried on.

She didn't have the time to have a new wedding dress made. Instead, she had brought her old one with her. It didn't surprise her that it did not fit her; she was quite a bit smaller, having lost most of the muscle she had back then, and becoming slimmer and slimmer with every passing depression, she was almost bony. It made Logan almost sad to have seen her try to fit it on, only to have it literally fall off and on to the floor, to remember watching her decay slowly over the years. So, they had spent an hour or two adjusting it.

First, they made sure to fit it to her. Then, they made some drastic alterations, if not simply to rendering it unrecognizable to Jasper, who had already seen it, for the sake of tradition. They removed the sleeves, leaving her shoulders exposed. They completely tore apart another dress in order to add a few more layers of skirts, giving it the appearance of a ball gown. They were, however, a lovely purple, and thus didn't match, so to of even things out, they attached some purple bows along the bottom, and used some of the same fabric to fashion a bow that wrapped around her waist, accentuating her curves. The result was a glorious franken-dress of which they were equally proud. They finished it off with long white gloves and the old veil.

When Walter finally came to get her, he stood in awe of her. Logan left them, smiling to himself upon seeing the effect his work had on him. Sparrow looked down at her feet. She realized that the thick fur boots she wore were unnoticeable under her abundance of skirts. Walter took a step forward and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Never have I seen a more beautiful sight," he told her, though he took a moment to think and continued, "...apart from the sunlight I saw after being trapped in that bloody cave during the Battle of Oakfield."

"Might I add that that was also thanks to me, and thus, I still win?" she asked, smirking.

"You may," he said. "You saved my life that day. I thought I would die down there. I still have nightmares." He shuddered.

Sparrow touched the hand that rested on her shoulder. "That made us even," she said. "You saved my life all those years ago on the battlefield."

"I let you get shot," he corrected.

"No, you didn't. I did. And you held on to me when I did. You helped me hold on. Without you, I would never have made it back to Logan, or Jasper. I would never have gotten to love Jasper as I do now. I owe so much of what I have now to you. I don't what I would do without you, Walter. And, heaven forbid Jasper and I ever have a child, they'll be in hell, between the two of us. I'm quite old, now, so it's unlikely. In any case..."

Walter laughed. "Hey, you're a _hero_. It's not impossible. And if you do, I promise to always be there to intervene whenever I see fit. I can just see Jasper worrying himself to heart attack at the sight of a scraped knee."

The queen shook her head and sighed. "You have no idea. All I can think of is just him, trying to give a demonstration of how to put on a bloody condom and just crying. He's such a woman, I swear. Every little thing just makes him feel dirty, right to the core, and it's difficult to watch an old man struggle with sexuality." They both chuckled. "And now, it's time to go marry him, I suppose."

"Oh, hiding behind your sarcasm again? What a surprise. Well, you're not fooling anyone, _your majesty_." Sparrow looked away to hide her smile. Walter offered his arm to her and she took it, allowing him to lead her out into the cold mountain air. She shivered, and Walter sighed. "You're not dressed properly," he teased, but she waved it off, determined to brave the light snowfall.

Together, they walked to Sabine's caravan. The only people to be seen was Sabine himself, Boulder, his right hand man, standing behind him, Jasper, of course, standing next to Sabine's 'throne', and Logan standing next him. Sparrow took her place opposite Jasper and Walter took his beside her. Sabine, who was sitting slouched in his chair, twiddling the brown hairs of his moustache, got to his feet, stood tall and squared his strong shoulders, casting a glance down at the bride, then groom, who nodded.

Sabine cleared his throat and proceeded. "Right, then.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered today in the presence of this couple's only two friends to join together this man and this woman -"

"Oi, you old bastard," Sparrow interrupted so eloquently. "We're friends. I gave you your bloody mountains. And Boulder; we're friends, right?" Boulder grunted in agreement. "You," she pointed at Sabine, "watch yourself."

Logan was bent over in a fit of laughter, and Jasper was laughing silently into his hands, his shoulders shaking. Sabine cleared his throat and tried to speak through his own chuckling, "... We are gathered here today in the presence of the heavens -"

"That's better."

"- to join together this poor old sod and this firecracker of a woman -"

"Oi!"

"- who is looking very lovely today, might I add -"

"Very lovely," echoed the other men, plus Boulder's grunt of agreement.

"- in holy matrimony. If anyone has _any_ reason as to why they should not be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace." A short moment of silence followed this statement. "Good. Now, who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"We do," Walter and Logan replied.

"Well, no, you don't, do you? Nobody does. It's her decision, isn't it? She's a grown woman. Shame on you two." Everyone laughed. "Now, do you, Jasper, take this woman, Sparrow, to be your lawfully secret wife?"

"I do."

"And do you, Sparrow, take this man, Jasper, to be your lawfully secret husband?"

"I do." Her lip trembled, tears forming in her eyes. The sight brought Jasper to about the same state. They stepped forward and each took hold of the other's hands.

"Now Jasper, repeat after me;" he continued, pausing after every second word so Jasper could repeat them, "I, Jasper, take thee, Sparrow,to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part." When he was done, he turned to Sparrow and continued. "Now, you. Do you think you can manage it?" Sparrow sort of laughed, sort of sobbed, and nodded. Jasper was crying. "I, Sparrow, take thee, Jasper, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part." Sabine turned to Logan. "Rings, please."

Logan reached into his coat pocket and brought forth the small velvet box and handed it to Sabine, who opened it and offered them to Jasper. He took one of them, and, holding Sparrow's hand with his free one, he slid the ring on to her finger. Then, Sparrow did the same for Jasper's ring. They stood, beaming at each other from ear to ear, tears streaming down their faces. "May these rings be constant symbols of your unending love and devotion," Sabine declared dramatically. It was then that Boulder broken down in tears. "You may now kiss the bride," he told Jasper.

In one quick, swooping motion, Jasper grabbed Sparrow by the waist and spun her around, dipped her and kissed her. Everyone applauded.


	21. Something Wicked

p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; text-align: center;"strongAct II Part IXbr /Something Wicked/strong/p  
hr style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;" noshade="noshade" size="1" /  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"emReaver,/em/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"emBefore I begin, I know it's been a while since we've spoken, or since I've written and, yes, I did get all of the letters you've sent us – all of the 40-odd you've sent this year. I read them, and I burned them. I wrote to you after the first one telling you not to write, and yet you persist. Stop, I implore you. I won't read any more of them. Do not write to me anymore. If you wish to know how life at the castle is, maybe you should listen more carefully to the gossiping hens in /The three of us, here, we are a family, and we don't need you meddling any more than you already have. Whatever your reasons or motivations, you need to stop trying to contact us. If Sparrow ever found out, she'd be furious. After what happened this winter, I don't want her under any extra /Leave us alone, Reaver./em/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"When he was done his furious scribbling, and Jasper finished his dictating, Logan set the quill down and sat back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He yawned and stretched. Jasper read over his shoulder. "Good, now -" He grabbed the quill and scratched, in beautiful, curled letters, an elegant, emNow fuck off/em, at the bottom of Logan's message. "In case he hasn't got the point already."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"The young prince looked at his stepfather with tremendous admiration. "I really do love you, Jasper," he mumbled sleepily./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Alright, just don't go soft on me, now. And never tell that to your mother, she'll hate me. You're supposed to be a mommy's boy," he said scornfully, wagging his finger at him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""N-no I'm a daddy's girl," he slurred in reply, getting to his feet. He stumbled slightly, but Jasper caught him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""My dear boy, I think you're a tad drunk, though your handwriting hasn't suffered a bit. And that means that it's bed time."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Did you put Logan to bed?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Jasper looked up from his feet to meet his wife's eyes from across the room and cocked his head to one side. "I don't think you put a boy of his age to bed, dear." He smiled./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Sparrow's own lips turned upward in response, as though it were a reflex. "Yes, of course."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"The butler removed his coat and hung it up neatly and began unbuttoning his shirt as he walked across the room, kicking off his shoes as he went. He skillfully escaped his trousers and hopped into bed. He reached down and pulled the covers up to his chin, sighing in contentment as he made himself comfortable. After a moment, he turned on to his side and looked at Sparrow with his tired, blue eyes. "Lovely weather we're having," he said nonchalantly, reaching up to rub the nook between his left eye and his nose with his index finger./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"She tucked her chin into the neck of her nightshirt, nibbling at the fabric of the collar habitually. "Indeed. Uncharacteristically lovely, I must say. I can't wait for it to snow. I love the snow," she mumbled, seeming to be somewhere else completely. She shook her head and went back to her nibbling, her focus returning to him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Might be a while yet," Jasper admitted. "Summer's only just arrived." He traced along her jaw with a single finger, hooking it under the neck of her nightshirt and removing it from between her lips before rubbing his thumb along her chin. She shifted slightly next him so she could place a chaste kiss on his nose./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""I love the winter. I love the snow. Hannah promised that she'd arrive in Bowerstone with the snow this year, remember?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Jasper's unshakable smile faded as he regarded her with concern, forcing a sort of half-smile as a comfort to her. "Yes, Sparrow, I remember." He took her hands in his own. This caused her own hopeful smile to fade away to confusion. "Hannah died this winter. The monks sent for us when she fell ill. She made us that promise on her deathbed. You were at her side until the very end." He paused for a moment, trying to recall how many times he'd had to explain this to her. As always, he added a playfully, "You're losing yourself again, dear."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Sparrow let out a sharp breath and shook her head, gently, a ghost of smile returning. "Yes, yes, of course. I'm just tired. You know me; I'm just trying to block it all out. Terrible business. Hate thinking about it."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Sparrow heard a noise. Her eyes shot open and she lifted her head from her pillow. Her husband lay sleeping undisturbed beside her. emMaybe it was just my imagination, then, /emshe thought. But then she heard it again. As her eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting, she became scanning the room for any sign of movement, or anything out of place. Jasper cleaned the bedroom compulsively, so it remained ever-unchanged; she would know if anything was different, but everything seemed fine. She propped herself up on her elbows so that she could have a better view. That's when she noticed something./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Usually, Sparrow could see what little light there was in the room reflected off the finish of the door, but now the room only ended in darkness. She peered over the edge of the bed, sitting up further, her brow furrowing in confusion. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air around her – a sort of heaviness that weighed on her, like the darkness was pushing on her, as though it were tangible. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her breath formed a cloud in front of her face. She shuddered./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"There was a sort of wet clucking sound, like something clicking their tongue. "Hello? Logan, is that you?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Suddenly, a wind rushed forward with unimaginable force, pushing her back down flat against the move with no help of resisting. She lay there, unable to move, listening to the sound of the wind, blowing over her like a hurricane. Her heart pounded. An invisible force gripped her wrists and held them to the bed at her side./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"The wind stopped./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Nothing moved, there was no sound, as though time were suspended around her. Shadowy fingers caressed her skin like the rays of the sun, leaving behind a sort of filthy film along her inner thighs. And then, without warning, the strange force spread her legs, and unusually thick darkness that hung over her began to move, first swirling around her, then disappearing between her legs. Sparrow gasped at the cold sensation but was still unable to move until the spell was broken by a warm hand on her shoulder./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Jasper shook her gently. "Sparrow, wake up. You're having another nightmare."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Sparrow sat straight up, breathing heavily. She wiped the gathered sweat from her brow and clutched her chest as though to prevent her heart from bursting out of it. "No. N-no. More. It was… m-more than that." She closed her eyes tightly, willing away the filth she felt on her skin. She relaxed just enough to allow herself to fall against Jasper's warmth and be taken into his comforting embrace. "Something bad is going to happen, Jasper. It's inside of me, growing. Darkness is coming."/p 


	22. Something Lost, Nothing Gained

A/N: I'm just getting back into the swing of writing publishable material. This is probably the second last chapter. The final chapter won't be far behind. Whether or not I connect my bits and pieces for a sequel and publish them depend on whether or not you want me to. I'm really thankful for those of you who've stuck with me this long.

* * *

**Act II Part X  
Something Lost, Nothing Gained**

* * *

Sparrow grasped the knocker firmly, hesitating slightly, mustering her resolve before she actually knocked – how long she'd been standing on the front step, she had no clue. The sound of the brass making contact with the mahogany resounded strongly off of the walls behind it, loud enough for the queen herself to hear the echo. She barely had time to catch the breath that caught in her throat before the door was answer by a man with a bird's nose and beady eyes to match. He made a show of brushing off his finely tailored uniform before showing the cloaked woman in.

The place was much more different than she had imagined it – definitely a step up from Bloodstone Manor, and less flashy than the now singed estate in Millfields. Gentle pastels covered the walls, which were accented by the watercolour scenery that adorned them, framed in a gentler, finished mahogany that of the doors. The greatest splash of colours lied within the greenery that spotted the long hallway. For a second, she pondered the possibility that she had come to wrong address, until a gorgeous man-boy who wore a much new, flashier version of the uniform the butler had, with hair kissed by fire and the twinkle of youth in his eyes. He was quite pretty; Sparrow could tell why his master had chosen him.

"This way to the mastah, madam," he said, making a gesture of grander toward the length of the hallway. The hint of speech impediment that she caught must have been a fabrication of her own imagination. "I'm Bawwy, by the way, mastah Weavah's head boy." No, it was certainly there. Typical – she knew how much Reaver loved his little boys.

Barry led her to the end of the hall. Sparrow couldn't help but be reminded of a similar journey she made as a child, after her summon from lord Lucien, and the long trek she made down the dimly lit hallway of Fairfax Castle, the place she now called home. The thought of what she found at the end of the hallway then plagued her mind, making each step more difficult. She remembered when Lucien shot her sister and stopped dead in her tracks, reaching around her waist just to make sure the pistol was in its holster. Barry, too, paused and looked back at her, urging her on with a nod of his head. Sparrow shook hers and continued.

Finally, the long walk came to its end and the two were faced with a white door. Barry stepped forth and knocked thrice. They waited for what seemed to Sparrow like an eternity before a muffled voice invited them in. Barry held the door open for her and nearly closed it on her behind, disappearing from sight. Sparrow wasted no time in approaching the figure bent over his desk scribbling down a storm. "I want to know what you did," she said calmly.

Reaver stopped, set down his writing utensil, and pushed aside his parchment. "I can tell you went to see them. I can smell it on did they tell you?"

"They said, 'It comes too early.' I want to know what they mean. What did you do?"

He turned his chair around, folding his hands over his lap and raising an eyebrow. "They mean exactly what they say, my dear. The Shadow Court doesn't mess around."

The queen huffed, running her fingers through her chocolate locks. "I know that you know that I know. I didn't come here to play games, Reaver." She took a deep breath, pulling back the hood of her cloak so as to get a better look at him. She was finally able noticed the scruff on his jaw, the stains on his shirt, and that his usually well groomed hair was a greasy mess. His once brilliant eyes now reminded her of the Albion's coastal waters – a muted, foggy green. The sorry sight filled her with a sense of justness. "I came here to hear you say it."

"Say what? I cannot possibly fathom what it is you have the desire left to hear from me, ma chère. You know how you ladies confuse me."

"I just want…" She stopped herself, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. Her hand moved to her abdomen, as she often found it did without much thought of late. So many things came to mind regarding things she wanted to hear from Reaver, but there was only one reason as to why she was actually here. "I want you to tell me that you put darkness into me, and I want to know why."

Reaver cracked a smile. He stood up and place a hand on her shoulder, running it down the length of her arm while the other stroked her pale cheek, thumbing the single tear that rolled down from here watery eyes. She refused to move or make a sound, not wishing to give him the satisfaction. "Do you wish I'd done it myself? You know that the two of us have had a troubled past, and your womb is prime real-estate. I had to ask them to lend a helping hand. We could have a go now, though, if you so desire."

Sparrow blinked rapidly, trying to rid herself of the tears clouding her vision, taking in a sharp breath. "I don't understand why."

"Why not?" he offered, shrugging, a soft chuckle resounding in the depths of him. She felt the movement in his chest as a result, the vibration a sort of calming feeling – one she missed. It felt like nights spent drinking fine wine and being fed expensive chocolates, with whispers of sweet nothings, his chest the only pillow she needed, his voice the only thing she needed to hear. She closed her eyes tightly, letting out a long, shaky breath, unable to meet his gaze. His hand found a place on her hips, his very touch summoning a forgotten yet familiar disgust deep in her stomach. "You do owe me, after all, with what you and your little brat did to my mansion."

"I have no doubt that you will find yourself at home in Albion again soon," she said softly. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him an arm's length away. "But not in my lifetime. Not if you wish to live out the extent of your own." She turned her back to him, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. "You won't have to wait too long, I'm sure."

A new smile spread across Reaver's face. Not his usual malicious grin, but the mischievous smirk of youth. "You feel them too, then? The winds of change? The metal monsters fast approach, our dream of true industrialization will become reality. And, with that, a change in leadership. I do hope you've made arrangements."

Holding back the rising anger, Sparrow decided it best for her to show herself out.


End file.
